“You love me, right?”

It’s the night after one of your D.C. concerts, and you’re laying in bed with your boyfriend, Spencer. He’s been quiet ever since you finished showering and crawled into bed beside him, and you had a sense that something like this was coming. In fact, you’ve wondered for a while now when you would have this conversation. You’re the lead singer of one of the most popular bands in the nation―possibly even the world, at this point―and your relationship is under constant scrutiny as a result. People have no problem taking to social media to post hateful comments. To make matters worse, so-called fans are obsessed with the idea of you and your band’s bass player getting together. Instead of being happy that you’re in a committed relationship, people fantasize about the idea of you hooking up with one of your best friends, instead. No matter how many times you post pictures of Spencer, no matter how often you talk about him in interviews, it never seems to be enough to convince them. And you can see how it’s worn him down, bit by bit. Spencer has always had a fear of abandonment, ever since his father left him at a young age, and it seems to be an ugly pattern in his life; just when he lets his walls down around people, they leave him. He doesn’t talk about it much, but you know how deep those scars run—how loud the voice in his head can get when it tells him he’s not enough. He doesn’t want the same to ring true of his relationship with you, but he couldn’t help the insecure thought from escaping his lips.

You can barely make out the soft features of his face in the dark, but the worry in his eyes is as clear as day. You exhale slowly, shifting onto your side so you can face him properly. “Of course I love you,” you say gently, your fingers finding his beneath the covers. “I thought that was obvious.” Spencer’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes flicking away from yours like he doesn’t quite believe you yet. “It’s not,” he admits after a beat, voice quiet, almost like he’s ashamed to say it.