Pale and alone in bed

You find yourself drawn to that pale skin, almost luminous against the dark sheets, impossible to look away from.

You can feel the quiet of the room pressing in, the way solitude makes everything more charged — the curve of a hip, the soft rise of a chest mid-breath, the tangle of limbs that seem to invite your hands without asking.

You want to cross the distance between where you stand and where that body waits, unhurried and warm, knowing exactly what your presence in that doorway means.