WORST WAY | T. Thomas

12 | Roommate Interruptions

The soft morning light crept through the blinds, its warm glow casting gentle shadows on the walls of the small bedroom. Tanner lay on his back, his arm still securely wrapped around Mae's waist as she nestled against him. His fingers traced lazy circles on her skin, the touch almost reverent, as if he were memorizing every curve and line of her body. It wasn't that he hadn't seen her before, or that this was something new, but in this quiet moment, in the intimacy of the early morning, it felt like she was a discovery every time.

Mae's breath was slow, steady, a peaceful rhythm in time with his. She was still half-awake, but in this space between sleep and full consciousness, she felt warm and safe. There was no rush, no expectation, no need to hurry. It was just the two of them, wrapped up in the soft sheets and the even softer comfort of each other's arms.

The way his body held hers felt different than any other morning—more desperate, like he couldn't bear to let go of her for even a second. And Mae wasn't complaining. She loved being in his arms. It felt like the safest place in the world, like there was no place else she needed to be.

She shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek, the steady beat of his heart against her ear. Without thinking, she leaned up to press a light kiss to his chest, just beneath his collarbone. She felt his breath catch at the touch, and she smiled against him, still not fully awake but feeling a connection that was deeper than anything words could express.

"Morning," Tanner murmured, his voice thick with sleep, yet there was an undeniable affection in it. He shifted just enough to look down at her, his fingers brushing through her tangled hair. She had always been beautiful to him—her sleepy eyes, the way her lips curved in that soft smile—but in these quiet moments, he found a different kind of beauty in her. It was the way she fit against him so perfectly, the way the world outside felt irrelevant when they were together.

"Morning," Mae replied softly, her voice still hoarse with sleep. She nuzzled closer into him, not quite ready to move or face the world just yet. There was something about mornings like this—slow and unrushed—that she cherished deeply. Everything else could wait. All that mattered was the moment they were sharing.

Tanner kissed the top of her head gently, his lips lingering there for a second longer than usual. "You're still here," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand traced a line along her back, down her spine, as if reassuring himself that she was real, that she hadn't slipped away in the night.

"I'm not going anywhere," Mae replied, her voice steady but filled with warmth. She reached up to touch his face, her fingers gliding over his cheek, marveling at the roughness of his stubble, the way his skin felt warm beneath her touch.

Tanner smiled at that, his hand shifting from her back to cup her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. "Good," he said, his voice low but sincere. "I'm not ready for you to."

Mae met his gaze, her heart skipping a beat as she looked into his eyes—eyes that were still sleepy but filled with something deeper. There was a vulnerability there, a longing, and something about it made her chest tighten with emotion. He was more than just the guy she was dating; he was someone she trusted completely, someone who, without question, made her feel like she was enough just as she was.

"I'm right here," she whispered, leaning in to press her lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that was full of affection, but there was something more beneath it, something that spoke of everything they had shared, everything they were still discovering about each other.

Tanner deepened the kiss, his fingers finding the back of her neck, pulling her closer as if to say he never wanted to let her go. His body responded immediately, the warmth of her against him making him feel like he was home. He had never realized how much he craved the simplicity of these moments—when it was just the two of them, no distractions, no interruptions. Just them and the way they fit together.