“You don’t have to talk about it,” I tell him quietly. “Whatever happened today.”
He hums, low and tired. “Didn’t plan to.”
I chuckle softly. “Fair enough.”
Minutes pass. Then he shifts, turns toward me, and climbs into my lap without a word. His legs straddle my hips, hands braced on my chest. The movement isn’t sexual—it’s grounding.
He’s looking for connection, for the one place that still feels safe.
I’m his safe space and just knowing that makes everything worth it.
His fingers curl into my shirt, tugging lightly as his lips find mine. The kiss is slow at first, searching, trembling at the edges. I kiss him back, but gently, giving him space to pull away if he needs to.
After a moment, I pull back just enough to speak. My voice is rough, soft around the edges. “We don’t need to do this tonight.”
He looks at me, eyes wet, lashes clumped from the shower. “I know,” he whispers. “But I just want to feel normal.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath trembling against my mouth. “This feels normal. I need you. Ifuckingneed you, Miggy.”
And I hold him tighter. Sometimes love isn’t about fixing, it’s about holding someone together long enough for them to remember they’re still whole. If this is what he needs to feel whole, then that’s what I’ll give him.
His words hit me like a punch to the chest. Not because they hurt, but because they’re too raw and so fucking honest. I feel them under my skin, in the steady thrum of my pulse.
I wrap my arms around him, holding him close enough that I can feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing. His face presses into my neck, warm and damp, the faint scent of my shampoo clinging to his hair.
“Okay,” I whisper.
It’s all I can give him. No promises I can’t keep, no lies about how it’s going to be easy.Just okay.
He stays there for a long time, quiet except for the sound of his breathing. The weight of him on my lap, the slow rise and fall of his chest—it’s grounding. For both of us.
I run a hand up his back, tracing small circles between his shoulder blades. He relaxes gradually, the tension draining from him like the tide pulling back from shore. His breathing slows. The blanket slides down his back, and I tuck it closer around us, not ready to let him go.
He doesn’t see it, but I’m the one shaking now. Not from fear, but from how much I love him. From how much I want to protect him from everything that ever hurt him.
I used to think love was supposed to be easy. Simple. Something that came and went without tearing you open. But this—this quiet, trembling, heavy thing—it’s the real kind. The kind that asks you to stay even when it’s hard.
I kiss his temple. “You’re safe,” I whisper, mostly for him, but maybe a little for myself too. “You’ll always be safe with me.”
Caleb doesn’t answer. His eyes are already closing, exhaustion pulling him under.
I hold him until his breathing deepens, until the last bit of tension leaves his body. The credits on the show roll across the screen, light flickering over the room, but I don’t move to turn it off.
There’s a peace in this moment I don’t want to break.
He’s sleeping now, soft and quiet against me, and all I can think is how lucky I am to be the one he comes back to after the storm. How much I want to keep being that for him, even if it breaks me a little each time.
I tilt my head, whispering against his hair, words he won’t hear, but I need to say them out loud anyway.
“I’ve got you, baby. Every time.”
And I will.
Every time.
FIVE
CALEB
