He looks away again, out the window this time, his reflection fractured in the glass. He doesn’t cry, but something inside him bends like it’s about to.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it.
His eyes drop to the envelope in his hand, staring at it like it might explode. Like the weight of what it holds is too much. He tries to stay still, to play it cool, but I see through it — the subtle tremble in his fingers, the tight clench in his jaw. Then he exhales, sharp and broken, like he’s been holding his breath for days.
“You came into my life like a storm, Alex,” he says softly, “that night I saw you… I knew my life wouldn’t be the same again.”
“You made me quit my job,” he says, breath catching like each word is dragging glass from his throat. “You keep throwing money at things like it doesn’t cost you anything to fix the world around me. Like, I’m just supposed to get used to it.”
He swallows, and when he finally looks up at me, his eyes are glassy, and the pain in them hits me like a blade.
“And then… You do this thing.” He says quietly. “You care. You call me baby. You say I’m beautiful, like it’s the simplesttruth in the world. You kiss me like I’m worth something. You touch me like I’m… yours.”
God, I want to tell him that he’s mine in every damn way.
But he’s not done.
“Do you know how fucking terrifying it is to be seen?” His voice cracks now, hoarse and shaking. “To be truly seen after so long of trying to disappear?”
He breaks eye contact, stares down at his lap, fists clenched like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“I spent years learning how to be invisible. How to stay small, how to live without taking up space because I had to. Because no one ever looked at me like I was worth anything.”
And then he turns his eyes back to mine.
“And now you look at me like I’m the most important person in the world to you.” He shakes his head slowly, voice barely a whisper now. “It feels like a dream. Like if I blink too long, it’ll all fall apart. And—I’m scared that if I let myself want it, if I like it too much, it’ll just… shatter.”
He covers his face with his hands.
“God, I hate this. I hate that you make me feel this much. That you make me want something too good to be true.”
I sit there, still, the ache in me growing louder. And then a single tear rolls down his cheek. That one tear undoes something in me. Quietly. Completely.
I reach for him, gently, like touching something too delicate to hold. My hands find his waist, and I pull him toward me.
“Come here,” I whisper.
He doesn’t resist.
Doesn’t say a word.
He climbs into my lap like his body was always meant to fit there, like he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t belong. His knees rest on either side of mine, and I wrap my arms around hiswaist, holding him like he’s fragile. Like, I’m terrified he might disappear.
He tucks his face into my neck, burying himself in me. He isn’t crying exactly, but he’s trembling — his body holding on to whatever scraps of control it has left. So I tighten my arms around him, pressing him closer, silently telling him:Fall apart. It’s okay. I’ll catch you. Always.
“I’m scared,” he whispers, and it breaks me. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”
The words land heavy, full of fear, and something else, something sacred. He rarely says things like this. He guards his feelings like they’re secrets carved into bone, like the moment he speaks them out loud, they’ll vanish.
But not now. Not here.
He’s letting me see him, all of him. And I swear to God, it fills my chest with something I can’t name. Something so full it aches.
“You won’t,” I breathe, my hand finding the back of his neck, and I take off his beanie, my fingers threading gently into his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ve got you.”
A small, broken sound escapes him, raw and quiet, the kind of sound that no one’s probably ever heard from him before. A sound that tells me just how much this means to him. I hold him tighter, pressing my lips to the side of his head, my heart thundering in the silence.
When he finally pulls away from my neck, it’s slow, like he’s reluctant to leave the only safe place he’s ever known. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, but I stop him gently, catching his wrist and bringing my other hand to his cheek.
