Marcel

I sit on the edge of the bed, my arms crossed, watching Lori move around the room with ease.

She's arranging stuff, getting clean sheets and covers and all that.

But the bed is small—too small for two people to fit comfortably, no matter how you try to angle it. I’ve already told her I’ll take the couch, but she insisted I take the bed.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” she says for the third time, her voice firm. “I won’t let you.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not your decision, Lori. I’m perfectly fine on a couch. I’ve slept on worse.”

She pauses mid-step and looks at me, one brow raised. “It’s my house. That makes it my decision.”

I don’t respond, letting my silence speak for itself.

Lori sighs, dragging a hand through her hair. “That settles it; you take the bed, and I’ll take the couch.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head. “It’s your bed. I’m not kicking you out of it.”

She shrugs, grinning faintly. “I don’t mind. It’s not haunted or anything. Unless you count my ex crashing here once in a while.”

“Not funny.”

Her grin widens for half a second before she lets out another sigh. “Look, Marcel, it’s late, and I’m too tired to argue about this. Just take the bed.”

I want to push back, but the weariness in her voice makes me stop. I shrug, conceding with a quiet, “Fine.”

“Good.” Lori gestures toward the bed like she’s closing a deal. “See? Problem solved.”

She heads toward the couch, tossing me a pillow on the way. “Goodnight, Marcel.”

I don’t answer, climbing under the covers and turning toward the wall.

×××

It’s cold.

The kind of cold that creeps in slowly, unnoticed at first, until you can’t ignore it anymore. I shift under the blankets, pulling them tighter around me, but it doesn’t help. The bed is uncomfortable, and for some reason, I can’t seem to settle.

I stare at the wall for what feels like hours, but when I check my phone, it’s only been thirty minutes. I let out a soft groan, throwing the blanket off.

The room is dark, save for the faint light of the moon filtering through the curtains. Lori’s couch is visible from here, a lump of blankets with her somewhere underneath.

I get up quietly, tiptoeing across the floor until I’m standing beside her. Her face is relaxed in sleep, her hair spilling over the arm of the couch. For a moment, I just watch her, something soft stirring in my chest.

I clear my throat. “Lori.”

She doesn’t move.

“Lori,” I try again, a little louder this time.

She groans, shifting slightly but not opening her eyes.

“Your bed’s haunted,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her brow furrows, and she mumbles something incoherent.

“And it’s cold,” I add.

This time, one eye cracks open, just barely. “What?”

“I said your bed’s haunted. And cold. I think I’m going to freeze to death.”

She blinks slowly, processing my words, before letting out a sleepy laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But I’m also freezing.”

She sighs, and sits up. "Alright."

Without warning, she hooks her arm around mind and leads us back to the bedroom. She gets in bed and lifts the blanket without opening her eyes fully.

“Get in.”

I hesitate.

“Marcel,” she mutters. “Just get in before I change my mind.”

I slide under the blanket cautiously, keeping as much distance between us as possible. Somehow the cold isn’t bone-deep anymore.

Lori shifts beside me, her arm draping over my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I freeze.

Her breath is soft and steady against the back of my neck, and I can’t tell if she’s asleep or not.

“Lori?” I whisper.

Nothing.

Her arm tightens slightly, pulling me closer.

“Shh,” she murmurs, so quiet I almost think I imagined it.

Her body curves against mine, and suddenly, I feel very small. Small and warm, tucked into her like I belong here.

My heart is racing, pounding so loud I’m sure she can hear it.

I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the words stick in my throat.

Instead, I close my eyes, letting the rise and fall of her breathing lull me.

As I drift off, one thought lingers: I hope she doesn’t remember this. Or how I didn’t ask her to let go.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the gentle rustling of the blankets and the soft rhythm of our breathing.

And I let myself enjoy it, despite the way my heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest. It’s ridiculous, I know.

But I can’t help it.

I don’t want her to move away, don’t want to lose this sense of closeness, even if it’s only for tonight.

But I also know I can’t stay here forever. That thought drags me back to reality.

In the morning, things will be different. They always are. We will forget about this and...

I drift into sleep.

But when I wake up, the sun is just beginning to peek through the blinds, and Lori is still beside me.

Her arm is still around me, her body pressed against mine, as if we’ve been this way for hours.

Her breathing is deep and even, and for a moment, I just stay there, not moving, not even thinking.

Maybe we’ll pretend it never happened. Maybe I’ll pretend that I don’t feel something more than I should.

For now, though, I stay.