I stared at the ceiling for a long time, one hand stroking slowly along her spine. Pretending this was normal. It wasn’t. She was tucked against me, her cheek resting just under my collarbone, her fingers tangled gently through the fabric of my shirt. Every so often, I felt her thumb graze along the stitching like she was grounding herself. It was so cute and I found it oddly relaxing.
I kept stroking her back. Had no idea if I was doing it right. But the silence wasn’t awkward. That had to be a good thing.
“I didn’t tell you the other ones,” her fingers traced my necklace. “Love languages, I mean.”
I looked down. “There’s more?”
She nodded lightly against my chest. “Five, total. Physical touch. Words of affirmation. Acts of service. Gifts. And quality time.”
I hummed, processing them.
She tipped her chin slightly so she could look up at me. “What do you think yours is?”
No one had ever asked me something like that nor had anyone ever tried to understand me.
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
She gave me a soft smile. “You don’t have to pick one now. It’s not a test.”
Touch had never felt safe for me. Words were dangerous, I’d been taught that early. Gifts felt transactional. Time was currency in the empire. Service, maybe, but not the way most people meant it.
But I liked holding her like this, protectively, letting her breathe against me after I almost lost her.
“I like words too,” she added. “But not compliments. I mean I like when someone says they’re proud of me. Or tells me I made something easier.”
“That makes you feel loved?”
She gave a soft hum. “Safe, mostly. Like I’m not invisible.”
That did something sharp in my chest.
She took a deep breath.
“And acts of service. Like when someone remembers something small and just, handles it. Without making me feel like a burden. Gifts don’t matter unless they’re personal. Like you actually noticed something about me. Not because of the price.”
That made me think of the shoes. She never asked for either.
“And quality time?” I asked.
She smiled against my chest.
“That one’s dangerous. Because if I let you into my space, and you give me yours, I’ll fall.”
I looked down at her. “That’s a lot of languages,”
“Yeah. Turns out I’m high maintenance.”
I shook my head once, brushing her hair back from her cheek. “No. You’re just fluent.” I traced her side, finding it calming.
“I never said thank you,” she nestled higher against my chest. “For last night. For saving my life.” I swallowed hard, butbefore I could answer, she whispered, “Starting to become a habit, isn’t it? You rescuing me from things.”
Her fingers brushed along the edge of my shirt. “First the elevator, now this.”
I shook my head slowly.
“That’s not the same. That was fear. You weren’t in real danger.” My chest tightened. “This was your life. You scared the hell out of me. Your reaction came on too fast.”
The same tight helpless feeling floods me. I hated being helpless.
