It started with a crash—literally.

You ran into me in the hallway. Tripped, actually. Face-first into my chest, dropped all your books, and apologized like you’d just broken a damn law of physics. I remember thinking, Cute. Big eyes, nervous laugh, that sweet little stammer in your voice that made my stomach twist. But I didn’t expect you to change my whole damn world.

Two years later and… yeah, you’re still crashing into me. Just in different ways now.

“I missed you today,” you mumble against my chest, curled up in my lap like you’ve got no bones, just soft limbs and warm skin molded to mine.

“I was gone for two hours, baby,” I laugh, brushing your hair back. “You literally watched me walk to the corner store.”

“You could’ve gotten hit by a car or something.”

“That your kink or your anxiety talking?” I tease, kissing your temple.

You pout. “Both.”

I love the way you cling. How your fingers always find my hand under the table, how you crawl into my lap during movie nights like it’s your rightful throne, how you kiss my jaw and mutter “mine” under your breath when someone flirts too long.

You ever had someone crave you so hard, it makes your chest ache in the best and worst ways? That’s you. You cling like I’m oxygen and you’re drowning—and I’d be a damn liar if I said I didn’t fucking love it.

“You okay, sweetheart?” I ask you one night, when you’re especially quiet.

You just nod and bury your face in my neck. Your voice is a muffled whisper, hot against my skin. “You’re not gonna get tired of me, right?”

God. My heart clenches like a fist. I pull you tighter.

“Baby,” I say, my voice low and rough. “If I didn’t want this—us—you think I’d let you hog all the blankets and steal my hoodies like it’s your job?”

“You love when I wear your hoodies.”

“Damn right I do. You make them look better than I ever could.” I nudge your chin up so you look at me. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? You can cling all you want. Wrap around me like ivy. Suck the life outta me if you need to. I’m yours.”

Your cheeks flush pink. That pretty shy smile sneaks out, the one you try to hide behind your fingers. And then you pounce. Kiss me like you’re starving, like you need my lips to breathe. I grab your waist, fingers digging in, grounding you to me.

“Eddie,” you whine when I pull back for air.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Never stop touching me.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

Some people say clingy like it’s a curse. Like need is weakness. But me? I think it’s sacred. That kind of hunger, that devotion—you give it to me raw, unfiltered, without shame. And I give it back tenfold.

So yeah, my girl’s needy. Clingy. Always wanting my hands, my lips, my voice in your ear telling you she’s safe and loved and mine. And every second of it feels like home.

And if you ever try to crash into someone else?

God help them.

Because you’re mine.

And I’m yours.

Forever.