Tour buses were weird. Not in a bad way, exactly, but weird. The whole thing was basically a long hallway on wheels, with bunks stacked on one side and a couple of sad little couches bolted to the floor near the front. It smelled like coffee, old air freshener, and someone’s leftover McDonalds.

It was late. Or early. Time didn't really exist on the road. Most of the cast was asleep in their bunks. A few lights were still on, casting that tired, yellow glow over everything.

You and Malachi were sprawled on one of the couches. He’d claimed the spot first, but then he’d pulled you down with him anyway, because he was like that. Always touching. Always in your space. Not that you were moving.

The bus hit a bump. His arm tightened like he thought you were about to go flying.

You weren't far at all. His face was practically buried against your neck.