Drake's Pov
I sit in the chair in the corner of my room, leaning back slightly and watching Nicole, as she starts to unpack her things. She moves around with an air of quiet focus, occasionally glancing over at me, as if to gauge whether she is intruding.
I have to resist the urge to get up and help her. I want her to feel at home here, like this space can be as much hers as it is mine. So instead, I stay seated, trying not to hover.
Every so often, she will hold something up and turn to me. “Where can I put this?”
It is something small—a book, a stack of folded clothes, a bag of toiletries—but her voice has a softness to it that makes me smile every time.
I gesture toward the closet. “Half of it is empty. You can use that space. And there’s a dresser over there, too. It’s all yours.”
