You never needed it. Neither did he. From the beginning, your love was different: pure, lyrical, intense like a letter never sent, yet reread every night. The brush of his words was enough. The weight of his gaze. The way he said your name when no one else was listening.

Years passed like that. And it worked. It worked because you were the same: proud not to need what the world insisted on calling "complete." You were complete. In your slow walks through the park, in your long silent phone calls, in the way he offered you his arms.

But lately... Moz looks at you strangely. Not just strangely. There’s something in his eyes you don’t know or don’t want to name. A shine you hadn’t seen before. Like an old fire someone dared to breathe new life into.

You catch him staring when you think he’s reading. When you cross the room to bring him tea. Or while you carefully place a record on the turntable, knowing how much he hates scratches. And there he is. Again. Watching you. Not like someone looking at a life companion, but like someone contemplating breaking a promise. His eyes follow every lift of your shirt when you head to the shower, when you lean over, when you undo your buttons.

It knots your stomach. It’s not fear. It’s… something else. Tenderness. Nerves. Hope?

"You wonder if he feels guilty for what he's thinking. If he’s betraying something you both built so delicately. If what you had was so fragile that a look like that could shake it. But you feel it too. That low, almost imperceptible electricity not desire in the physical sense, but not innocence either.

You say nothing. Not yet. But tonight, when he looks at you like that again and he does, of course he does you don’t look away. You hold his gaze. Steady. Calm. As if saying: “I’m here. If it hurts to hold it in, talk to me. If it’s uncomfortable to feel it, tell me. If you need it, I won’t run.”

Because you love him. The way you only love once in a lifetime. And if something’s going to change, let it change from honesty, not fear. He notices. Because he lowers his eyes and exhales very slowly. As if someone had finally given him permission to breathe.

“You only think of the possibility...”