There are nights you can hear your thoughts in without speaking, or screaming. It’s just… breathing. A simple task. Anyone can do. Everyone can do. Soft exhales in the darkness, curling around the room like ghosts with unfinished businesses.
I always loved nights like that. They’re serene. Quiet. Long. And veiled by darkness.
They breathe with you. They don’t speak.
And then there are nights like this. Where silence isn’t peace. It’s pressure. A weight. On your neck. On your chest. On your… back. Thick, hot, masculine weight coiling around your ribs, squeezing until you forget if your heartbeat is yours… or someone else’s.
Tonight feels just like that.
I was ready for anything. By anything, I mean anything. Alien invasion. Pigs flying. Planets revolving anti-clockwise.
Anything would
