Emily Kinney behind the scenes of her photoshoot with Tina Turnbow on October 13, 2017 in New York City

Brendon’s back is pressed against my chest, and he’s breathing evenly in his sleep. We’re sharing a pillow, and my arm is resting under it while the other has curled around his chest. He’s warm and soft and alive, like he is the centre of it all, that’s what it feels like when I feel the thud of his heart against my fingertips. His arm rests over mine, and I’ve never felt as relaxed in my life. My nose brushes against his hair, and his hair smells like sex, and I don’t really know how we managed that last night. This is what it’d be like. […] We’ve never done this before. We’ve slept in beds, taken post-coital naps, shared a bed through the night a few times, but I’ve never woken up to find him asleep in my arms, to find myself holding him as close to me as I can. To wake up to a feeling of unity, of being a part of something bigger, something I can’t quite figure out but can still name. I’ve never done this before in my life. It’s him. Yeah, that sounds about right. That sounds like something he’d manage to do. He stirs, and I nuzzle the spot behind his ear that he loves getting kissed. He hums, sounding pleased, and he turns to lie on his back. He’s got a lazy smile on his lips, his eyes half parted. He looks sleepy and has bed hair, and I study every detail as my hand moves to trace the features of his face, my fingertips moving on his cheek. His lips part, and he’s about to say something, but I press my forefinger against his soft lips, silencing him. His eyes flutter open, revealing dark brown irises, and he looks at me questioningly. I let my finger slide to his jaw, and my hand settles on the side of his neck. “I love you.”