He fits around me like he always does — like my body was built with a Zach-shaped space carved into it. Warm, steady, anchoring. The kind of embrace that feels less like a hug and more like someone putting your soul back where it belongs.
His chin dips into the curve of my shoulder, that familiar spot he claims every single time. His nose brushes my neck, slow and deliberate, and he inhales like he's been starving for the smell of me all day. Maybe longer. His arms tighten around my waist, not urgently, not possessively — just this slow, certain pull that saysyou're mine, I'm here, breathe.
My knees almost forget they're supposed to hold me up.
I close my eyes, letting myself melt into him, my hand reaching up automatically — instinct, muscle memory, gravity. My fingers find his jaw, warm and defined, and I trace the line of his cheek like I'm relearning him. Like my hand missed the shape of him so much it has to map it again.
"Hey," I breathe.
"You got this, babe," he whispers.
He exhales against my skin, and the warmth of it skims down my spine like
a soft electric shock.
I swear my heart actually changes rhythm for him — settles, steadies, almost sighs.
If safety had a temperature, it would be this.
If comfort had a scent, it would be him.
If home had arms... it would be these.
Slowly, I pivot within the circle of his arms — and he doesn't let me go. Not even an inch. His hands remain firm around my waist, like releasing me isn't even an option.
The moment my eyes meet his, something warm blooms in my chest.
"I'm so happy you're here," I breathe out, almost laughing at how shaky my voice sounds. "I was... really freaking out."
Zach's thumb strokes the side of my waist.
"I wasn't missing your showcase for anything, babe." he says simply.
Then he leans in and kisses me.
I expect a quick, sweet, calming kiss.
It isn't.
He kisses me like he's been holding it in all day — lips deepening, hands tightening their grip on my waist, pulling me flush against him as he devours my mouth like he needs the taste of me to function.
My breath catches, my fingers instinctively rising to curl around his neck, pulling him closer.
Every nerve in my body sparks awake.
The kiss feels like someone pouring confidence straight into my bloodstream — like I could walk onto that stage and lift the whole set with my bare hands if I had to.
If reassurance were something physical, tangible, alive... it would feel exactly like this kiss.
When we finally pull back, we don't go far.
Our foreheads press together, both of us breathing a little harder, small smiles tugging at our lips.
"You're gonna be amazing," he whispers, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. "You're going to go out there and own that stage. Not 'do well.' Not 'get through it.' You're going to be unforgettable."
His thumb strokes my hip, gentle and sure.
"You have something no one else has, babe. It's not just talent. It's... you," he murmurs, "You pour your whole heart into every single performance. You don't hold back. You put so much of yourself into every role... People forget you're acting because you make every emotion real. That's what makes watching you feel different."
