El Diablo’s arms were wrapped loosely around your waist, his chin resting gently on your shoulder as the two of you swayed side to side in the quiet of the room. His body was close to yours, but despite the proximity, his hands never actually touched you. It was as if there was an invisible barrier, a cautionary distance he kept, even though he longed to pull you closer.

The room was filled with a soft, steady rhythm as the music played, but there was a noticeable tension in the air. Diablo’s breath was warm on your neck, yet his movements were gentle, as though every step was measured, calculated. You could feel his hesitation, a quiet fear that lingered just beneath the surface. You knew the weight of his past was something he carried with him, and that fear—of making the same mistakes, of losing someone else he cared about—was something he couldn’t shake.

After everything that happened to his family, he had locked away the parts of himself that would have allowed him to move forward. But when he met you, something changed. It wasn’t immediate, but over time, he began to trust, to open up—little by little. Still, despite all that, he was cautious. Too cautious. He was terrified of ruining something good, something he hadn’t believed he deserved.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured into your shoulder, his voice barely a whisper as his grip tightened just slightly, though his hands still didn’t touch you the way you wanted. “I just… I can’t help but think I’ll hurt you. Like I always hurt everyone.”

You could feel the sadness in his words, the rawness in his voice. He wasn’t asking for reassurance, but you knew what he needed—what he was afraid of losing. It was all about trust, about him daring to believe that he could actually have something real again, something lasting.

Without a word, you gently reached up and placed your hand over his, giving him that small, silent gesture of comfort. It wasn’t much, but for him, it was everything.