THE TRUTH ABOUT MARKS VISIT

The warmth of his body pressed against mine was familiar, comforting in a way I had gotten used to. The night was quiet, with only the soft hum of the city in the distance, a steady backdrop to our silence. I felt his breath even out, the tension he usually carried in his shoulders slowly melting away as he relaxed beside me. It was rare to see him this unguarded, this open.

"Eli," his voice was a low rumble, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Hmm?" I tilted my head to look at him, his face half-lit by the dim glow of the bedside light. There was something in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe even fear, and it made my chest tighten.

"I've been thinking," he began, his words slow and deliberate. "About us."

I didn't respond right away. I just waited, knowing he wasn't someone who opened up easily. Armand wasn't a man who let emotions rule him—at least, not openly. But here, now, in the privacy of this moment, he was offering me something rare: vulnerability.