You didn't push me away anymore.

You never called me your lover,

but you didn't flinch when I said,

"I love you."

⸻

I started noticing the little changes.

Gawin stopped using concealer to hide the marks I left.

Stopped sighing every time I asked,

"You still don't love me, do you?"

Stopped texting people I didn't know.

But instead of pulling away,

he began to tell me stories.

⸻

"I once wanted a dog," he said, eyes still on his book.

"Yeah?"

"My mom didn't let me.

Said, 'I can't even take care of myself. Why the hell could I take care of an animal?'"

I laughed.

"Did you end up getting one?"

"Yeah.

A hamster.

Small. Easy to hide."

⸻

That was it.

No build-up.

No punchline.

But I understood.

That was a brick.

A door ajar.

A stepping stone he placed

so I could find my way inside.

A home.

Not a layover.

⸻

We were sitting on the couch.

Warm yellow light filled the living room.

Gawin curled up in a big sweater,

knees drawn to his chest, nose in a book.

It hung past his thighs, loose, soft.

I sat beside him in silence.

My hand rested on his leg.

Not gripping. Just... there.

A minute later,

he placed his legs across mine.

Still didn't look up.

I smiled.

"I love you."

He didn't raise his head.

Just let out a tiny "mm."

And my heart —

for the first time in a long time —

came back to life.

⸻

I ran my hand along his thigh.

Up his knee.

To his waist.

Gawin set the book down.

Didn't look at me yet — but he didn't move away.

Didn't say,

"Again?"

like he used to.

He just leaned in.

Rested his forehead on my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around him.

Slipped a hand beneath the oversized sweater.

He wasn't wearing anything but underwear beneath it.

His skin was warm.

His back smooth.

I traced my fingers down his spine.

Felt him shiver every time.

He settled into my lap.

Thighs against mine.

Eyes soft — like a curtain swaying in the breeze.

No inviting smile.

No teasing breath.

Just a gaze

that didn't turn away.

And for the first time,

he let me touch him

without building a wall first.

⸻

I leaned down and kissed him.

Not to keep him.

But to say:

Thank you for staying.

His tongue met mine —

not soft, not hesitant,

but intentional.

Not reflex.

But choice.

I touched his collarbone.

Slipped under the thin fabric.

Lifted the hem slowly,

tracing a path down his back.

Each stroke made him tremble.

Not because it surprised him —

but because this time,

he let himself feel it.

⸻

I turned him gently.

Laid him down on the couch.

I kissed him again —

not hurried, not demanding.

He kissed back.

One hand pulled me closer by the neck.

And for the first time,

his eyes were open —

watching me

even as our mouths stayed pressed together.

⸻

"Don't close your eyes," I whispered.

He nodded.

"I won't."

⸻

I took off his sweater.

Slowly.

No rush.

I kissed his chest.

Took a nipple in my mouth.

Bit, just enough.

He arched toward me.

Let out a low moan.

No resistance.

No avoidance.

He lifted his head.

Eyes locked to mine.

And in that moment —

I saw myself reflected in them.

An imperfect man.

But one who never gave up.

I removed my shirt.

Then the rest.

Our bodies pressed skin to skin.

Both of us shaking.

Not from cold.

But from too many feelings

flooding a space that had always been too small for them.

⸻

I lowered myself again,

took him in my mouth.

The moan he made —

wasn't loud.

Wasn't shattered.

But came from somewhere deep in his throat.

I circled my tongue.

Bit gently.

His hands gripped my back.

Not to push me away —

but to keep me close.

I tugged his underwear down.

Inch by inch.

Soft skin.

Slim waist.

I kissed his hips.

Then lower,

just above the navel —

a place I knew tickled him.

Gawin laughed.

I looked up.

Caught his gaze.

"You're still looking?"

He nodded.

"I'm saving this moment.

For someday, when I'm scared...

So I'll remember—

someone once loved me like this."

⸻

I almost cried.

But I didn't.

I just kissed the center of his palm.

An old gesture.

A quiet one.

But it said everything I couldn't.

⸻

I knelt between his legs.

Lifted him.

Entered him.

Slowly.

So slowly.

No pain.

No rush.

No moments missed.

His arms wrapped around my shoulders.

His neck arched back.

Mouth parted.

But his eyes—

still watching me.

⸻

My hand reached forward,

touched him tenderly.

He breathed harder,

but didn't shy away.

And when I pushed in deeper,

he still looked at me.

Didn't blink.

That look alone —

almost broke me.

⸻

I moved rhythmically.

Hands on his waist, holding him steady.

So he'd know he was held.

Safe.

Anchored.

I didn't thrust hard.

Didn't chase depth.

I just moved

the way I loved him:

deliberate,

complete,

not a single piece missing.

⸻

Gawin moaned.

Body flushed,

heat rising in waves.

And I saw the walls around him —

crumbling.

I leaned in,

laid him flat on the couch.

My body over his.

The movements now deeper.

More certain.

Still gentle.

He spoke between gasps.

"Joss..."

I met his eyes.

"I'm here."

"Don't close your eyes."

"I never do."

⸻

We made love slowly.

Like a song with no need for crescendo.

Each thrust purposeful.

My fingers laced with his.

Eyes still locked.

Every time I sank into him,

he didn't flinch.

Didn't hide.

Didn't turn his head away.

He just looked.

As if to say:

I'm here.

And I'm not running anymore.

⸻

I kissed his forehead.

His nose.

His lips.

"Gawin..." I said, like a prayer.

He gripped my hands.

Lifted his hips to meet me.

Eyes still open.

And I came —

inside him.

Eyes wide.

Heart full.

Because even without saying "I love you,"

he had just given me something even more sacred:

Presence.

⸻

We came together.

I buried my face in his neck.

Still inside him.

Still holding his hand.

Still watching him through sweat-drenched lashes.

And for the first time,

I no longer felt like the only one in love.

I was being loved back.

Quietly.

But fully.

⸻

I lay beside him.

We didn't speak.

I stroked his hair.

Then asked:

"You cold?"

He shook his head.

I pulled the blanket up.

Placed my hand on his stomach.

"Mm... I'll cook breakfast tomorrow?"

Gawin smiled.

"As long as it's not that dry sandwich from last week."

I laughed.

"You just made love to me and still have the energy to roast me?"

"Mm-hmm."

I exhaled.

"You're really back, huh?"

⸻

He rested peacefully in my arms.

Breathing steady.

Didn't ask,

"Why are you still here?"

Didn't wipe away my marks.

Didn't run.

I whispered,

"I'll stay.

Even if you never promise anything."

Gawin smiled softly.

"I know."

⸻