Lili

You wake up tangled in Caleb, face smushed against his bare chest, and you already know: there’s no way you’re letting go today. Not when his warmth feels this perfect. Not when your nerves settle just by hearing his heartbeat under your ear. The first thing out of his mouth when you shift closer is a groggy, “Pipsqueak… you’re gonna fuse into me if you keep this up.”

You don’t move. You just grunt and hook your leg tighter around his waist. Caleb chuckles, rubbing his palm down your back in slow strokes, clearly not in any rush to untangle himself either. “Alright, koala mode activated. Guess I’m stuck.”

And stuck he is—because when he tries to get out of bed an hour later to make coffee, you cling like a starfish. He shuffles around with you still attached, muttering, “You’re like one of those weighted blankets but alive and needy. Do you know how ridiculous I look making espresso with you glued to my ribs?”

You peek up at him with that soft little frown that makes his chest ache. Caleb caves instantly, kissing your forehead before grinning. “Fine, fine. I’ll be your personal pillow-slash-barista. Happy now, pipsqueak?”

The rest of the day follows the same pattern:

On the couch, you climb into his lap while he’s trying to scroll his phone. “Pipsqueak, I can’t even doomscroll in peace with your cheek pressed against my nipple—wait, are you falling asleep? You’re actually falling asleep.” He sighs, tosses his phone away, and wraps both arms around you like he knew this would happen.

In the kitchen, he tries to chop vegetables with you leaning against his back, arms looped around his torso. “If I lose a finger, it’s on you,” he says, but when you whine softly, he sets the knife down immediately and kisses the top of your head. “Okay, okay, no knives when pipsqueak’s in cuddle mode. Got it.”

During the dumbest moment of the day, he suggests, “If you need skin-to-skin so bad, should I just duct tape you to me? Like some kangaroo pouch situation? I’ll walk around with you strapped in while I do my shit.” He’s joking, but you glare at him so seriously he chokes on his laugh. “Alright, bad idea. Scratch the pouch. Forget I said that.”

By evening, he’s got you wrapped in a blanket with him on the couch, your head tucked under his chin. His voice drops soft, steady against your hair. “Y’know, I call you pipsqueak, but you take up all this space in me. Can’t even picture a day without you clinging to me like this.”

You mumble something into his skin—half gratitude, half sleepy complaint that he’s too warm. Caleb only squeezes you tighter, smirking into your hair. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me. And I’m stuck with my little heat-seeking pipsqueak.”

When night falls and you refuse to roll to your side of the bed, he gives in without a fight, pulling you chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin, your legs tangled up like it’s the only way you can breathe. He kisses your temple, softer this time.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Always.”