the lights are dim, candles flicker in every corner. soft instrumental music plays, a scent of lavender and vanilla hangs in the air.

you’re both in fluffy robes, feet soaked in warm water infused with epsom salts and flower petals  . drew kneels beside you, massaging your calves with scented oil—gentle, patient—his fingers tracing tiny circles that melt away the tension .

in return, you lean over to press a chilled jade roller to his neck, shooting a soft smile when his eyes flutter closed.

“this is… really nice,” he murmurs, breath soft.

you look up. “wanted tonight to feel like yours,” you whisper.

he pauses, eyes locked on yours—warm, relieved, like he’s longing to believe it’s true.

next, he pours lukewarm water over your feet again—green tea with a drop of lemon—and the glow of candlelight catches his profile.

he sets the pitcher aside, warms his hands on his chest. “i don’t do this often,” he admits. “i mess up more than i get it right.”

you reach out, place a hand over his heart. “you’re doing great.”

he breathes in your courage, then says “i spend too much time pushing people away. but with you… i learned what it means to stay.”

only then does he lean in and brush his lips softly over your knuckles.