He rolled to the side slowly, breathing like he'd just finished something that had required everything he had, and she looked at him sideways. His hair was a full disaster. His chest was still moving fast. He had a sheen across his skin and the very specific look of a man who had given every single thing he had and was now just existing in the aftermath.
She looked back at the ceiling.
"The bed," she said.
"I know," he said.
"It's soaked."
"I know, Soorin."
"We did that."
"We did."
"Wow," she said.
He laughed this time. A proper one. Low and genuine and tired and she felt it in her own chest and smiled at the ceiling without meaning to.
'Mom,' she thought quietly. 'I am never telling you any of this. Not one word. Not ever. I will carry every single thing that happened in this room to my grave and I will be completely at peace with that decision.'
She was very much at peace with it.
She turned her head and looked at him.
He was already looking at her.
