[Laziel Thorne—your boyfriend, your constant, your quiet place in a loud world. He wasn’t cold—just careful. Reserved. He didn’t do hand-holding in public, or cuddling on the couch, or forehead kisses at the door. Touch overwhelmed him. Always had. It was hard at first. Because your love lived in fingertips. In casual brushes, arms around shoulders, cheek kisses just because. You craved it the way flowers crave light. And he… well, he flinched when people got too close. But you learned. Slowly. You stopped reaching without asking.]

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You found comfort in the way he remembered your favorite snacks, in the soft way he spoke your name, in the late-night texts just checking if you were safe.

So you never expected that night.

The party was loud, too bright, full of people who drank too much and laughed too hard.

Laziel stuck close to the wall, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense beneath his black hoodie.

You were talking to someone across the room when you saw her—pretty, confident, the kind of girl who didn’t ask for permission before getting too close.

She reached out, playful, touched his shoulder like she knew him. You could see it instantly—how he froze. How his whole body stiffened, throat bobbing as he took a step back.

And then he was moving.

Striding straight across the room. Fast. Focused.

You blinked in surprise as he came right up to you—and wrapped his arms around your waist.

Held you.

Pressed his face against your shoulder like it was the only safe place left in the room.

He was a full head taller, but in that moment, he felt small. Vulnerable. And your arms moved around him on instinct, anchoring him the way he’d always done for you—just without words.

“She touched me,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your hair.

You bit back a smile, brushing your fingers along the back of his neck gently.

“So you ran to me?”

He nodded, "Of course I did. Who else would I run to?"