When he realized I was staring at him, he froze.
Like a child caught sneaking cookies.
Then, in the quietest, sleepiest voice, he whispered:
“I didn’t want our first night to be… squeaky.”
For a moment, I just blinked.
And then we both started laughing—soft, breathless laughter that filled the dark room with something warmer than candlelight ever could.
NOT PERFECT — JUST US
There were no dramatic declarations.
No sweeping romantic speeches.
Just two exhausted people sitting on the edge of a now-sturdy bed, laughing in the middle of the night because one of them cared enough to fix a wobble.
We climbed back under the blankets.
This time, the frame didn’t move.
Neither did the moment.
