His words sink deeper than any compliment ever could. My breath stutters, and he notices, continuing to trail kisses down the column of my throat, each kiss patient.
“You don’t have to perform for the world today,” he says quietly against my skin. “Just be here, with me.”
His voice remains husky from sleep as he slips his arm around my waist, pulling me close to his chest until our heartbeats sync.
I feel him smile against my neck.
“You’re enough without the views, without the numbers, without the followers, without any of it.”
My eyes sting, just a tiny burn of emotion that catches me off guard.
He lifts his head and rests his forehead against mine as his thumb brushes the corner of my eye, keeping anything from falling.
“Look at me, baby.”
I do. And it destroys me, the tenderness there, the confidence.
“You’re brilliant,” he says, his fingers tracing a gentle line along my jaw. “You’re brave. You didn’t need anyone’s permission to prove it.”
His lips meet the spot just below my collarbone, a delicate press that sends warmth blooming through my chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers against my skin. “Every step. Every risk. Every scared part of you. I’ve got it all.”
He pulls back just enough to see my face, his hand cupping my cheek, as his thumb strokes with slow reassurance. “So let the world do what it’s gonna do,” he finishes. “You justbreathe.”
My voice comes out barely there, but I manage, “Okay.”
He smiles in relief and wraps both arms around me, pressing his face into my shoulder.
I melt into him, letting his steady warmth drown out the anxious noise in my mind.
For the first time in a long time, I feel safe choosing myself.
He repositions himself, holding me from behind, wrapping around me with his chest warm against my back.
For a while, I breathe him in; cedar, oakmoss, and a hint of smoke that clings to his clothes no matter how often he washes them.
It’s comforting; it’s something I look forward to every time I’m here and miss when I’m away.
My nerves creep back, tapping at the edge of my mind.
“What if…” I start, not sure how to finish.
He keeps a firm hold as he nuzzles into the curve of my neck, his voice soft. “Check it,” he says. “I’m right here.”
My laptop is only within arm’s reach, yet lifting it feels like holding something that could explode in my hands. My fingers tremble as I open it, find the refresh button, and click it hesitantly.
My breath leaves me in a silent rush.
Thousands of views. Hundreds of comments. Notifications are flooding in faster than I can blink.
“O… oh.”
His arms tighten around my waist as he settles his chin on my shoulder, looking at the screen with me.
Comments rush upward on the screen as I scroll through.
Omg, Layla, I LOVE THIS!!!
