She's quiet for a long moment.
When she speaks, her voice is small.
"I'm sorry. I just thought that's what you'd want. It’s usually what men want from me."
"Hey." I tilt her chin up, make her look at me. "Don't do that. Don't apologize for offering something I'd very much like to take you up on again soon. But Ingrid? I want you for more than just sex. I want all of you. Including the part that just wants to watch terrible movies and fall asleep together."
Tears shine in her eyes.
"I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Be loved. Be with someone who wants me for more than just my body."
My heart cracks.
"Then we'll figure it out together. You're learning how to be loved. I'm learning how to love you without scaring you away. We'll take as long as we need."
She buries her face against my chest.
I feel wetness seeping through my shirt—tears, silent and steady.
I just hold her.
Let her cry.
Let her process.
Let her start believing that maybe, just maybe, she's worth more than she's been told.
Eventually, the tears stop.
She doesn't move away, just stays pressed against me, breathing steady.
"Gunnar?"
"Yeah?"
"This is nice."
I smile against her hair. "Yeah. It is."
We settle back into the movie.
Her hand returns to my chest—not sexual, just contact.
Proof that I'm real.
That this is real.
The movie ends, and another starts automatically.
Some slasher film with a masked killer and stupid teenagers making bad decisions.
Ingrid's nearly asleep against me, breathing deep and even, when there's a loud knock at the door.
She screams.
