The warmth of Jake’s apartment wrapped around us like a blanket, the hum of the city outside muffled by the closed windows. The day had been long—rounds, charts, patients—but now, it was just us. His arm rested lazily over my waist as we lay side by side, bodies close, breaths in sync.

I knew what he wanted. The way his fingers traced gentle patterns on my skin, the way his lips hovered near mine—it was obvious. And I wanted it too. But as soon as my mind caught up with my heart, panic set in. My chest tightened, my stomach twisted.

Jake noticed instantly. He always did. "Hey," he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand cupping my cheek. "What’s wrong?"

I swallowed hard, eyes darting away. "I just— I’ve never—" The words stuck in my throat. Embarrassment, fear… it was all tangled together.

His gaze softened, understanding dawning in his deep brown eyes. "You don’t have to say anything," he reassured me, voice quiet, steady. "And we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever."

I exhaled shakily, my fingers gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like a lifeline. "I want to… I just—"

Jake brushed his thumb across my cheek, patient, unwavering. "You don’t have to explain yourself to me," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We’ve waited this long. We can wait longer."