As Yohan carried her up the stairs on his back, her hands swayed lazily from side to side. She looked every bit asleep—but Yohan could tell she was pretending.
Her heartbeat gave her away. It was racing, far too fast for someone who was truly out cold, and pressed so close to his back, he couldn't miss it.
'She's probably nervous', he thought, continuing upward without slowing.
'But if she's awake… why am I still carrying her?'
In her drunken haze, she'd suggested it playfully, half-expecting him to laugh it off. The distance was long—longer than it looked—but Yohan had agreed without hesitation.
She expected him to get tired halfway but to her surprise, he didn't struggle. He didn't even breathe harder.
That alone sobered her up a little.
'He's so strong', she thought, her fingers shifting instinctively as one hand tightened around his chest, holding on just a bit more firmly than before.
