you caught your reflection in the mirror again, and the ache hit like it always did. too much here, not enough there, every curve feeling like a flaw. you turned away quick, tugging at your shirt like maybe that would hide it, like maybe he wouldn’t notice.

he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, shadows curling at his feet, watching you avoid your own eyes. he didn’t say much—just watched until you couldn’t pretend your face didn’t hurt.

when he crossed the room it was slow, deliberate. his hand caught your chin, tilted your face up so you couldn’t look away. there was no lecture in his eyes, only that steady, burning thing he always carried for you.

“stop,” he said, low. not soft, not mean— just a command that meant he was done watching you doubt yourself.

you blinked, heat rising, and he gave the smallest, almost gruff half smile, thumb brushing your jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“i like you. all of you,” he murmured, quick, like he didn’t want to make a speech. “don’t do this to yourself.”