"The Weight of Loving You"

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the rain against the window. The dim glow of a single lamp cast long shadows across the room, painting everything in muted blues and grays.

Alex sat on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, staring blankly at the TV—though he wasn’t really watching it. His fingers absently picked at the frayed edge of his sweater sleeve, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years.

You walked in, carrying two mugs of tea. The warmth of the ceramic seeped into your palms, a small comfort against the chill of the evening. You hesitated for a moment, watching him—the way his shoulders slumped, the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Hey," you said softly, sitting beside him. You held out his favorite mug—the chipped one with the constellation design. "Made you some tea."

He blinked, as if pulled from some distant thought, and turned to look at you. His lips twitched, trying for a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Thanks," he murmured, taking the mug. His fingers brushed yours, just for a second, before retreating.

You wanted to ask if he was okay. You wanted to say something that would make the heaviness in his chest lift, even just a little. But you knew better. Instead, you leaned into him, shoulder to shoulder, and let the silence settle between you.

After a long moment, Alex let out a shaky breath. "I don’t know why you put up with me," he whispered, voice rough.

You turned your head, studying his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. "Because I love you," you said simply.

He swallowed hard, gripping the mug tighter. "Even like this?"

"Especially like this."

A beat of silence. Then, slowly, he leaned his head against yours, letting the weight of it rest there—like he was finally allowing himself to be held, even if just a little.

Outside, the rain kept falling. But here, in this quiet space between you, there was something fragile—something warm.

And for now, that was enough.