The door clicked shut behind Jaime as he stepped into your apartment, a soft breath escaping his lips after a long day. His boots made quiet thuds against the hardwood as he made his way into the living room, his eyes immediately finding you curled up on the couch, wrapped in a cozy blanket.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but carrying an edge of warmth. You turned to face him, smiling softly, your eyes lighting up the moment you saw him. In his hand was a small bouquet of flowers, the bright colors standing out against the darkness of the room.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, your voice tender. But you weren’t complaining. You never complained when he did things like this—small gestures that always seemed to catch you off guard.

He sat down beside you, placing the flowers carefully on the coffee table before leaning back against the cushions. The weight of his presence beside you was comforting, grounding. There was an ease to him now, a calmness that came with being with you.

“I know I didn’t,” he said, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “But you deserve it.” His hand brushed against yours as he reached for the remote, turning the TV on but not really paying attention to it.

You turned to look at him, eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face. Jaime was older, experienced in a way that made you feel safe, secure, like you didn’t have to rush through life. You knew that a man like him, with his past, had his scars. But with Jaime, an older, more experienced guy was the most comforting thing you could have ever asked for. He knew how to make you feel special without needing to try too hard.

“Do you think we’re too different, with the age gap and everything?” you asked, voice almost hesitant, though you had never felt it more.

Jaime turned to face you fully now, his hand gently cupping your face, as if making sure you knew exactly how much he cared. “Age is just a number.” he said softly.