You hadn’t planned for the closeness. Hadn’t imagined what it would feel like to end up beneath him—or him above you.

It happened in a blink.

One wrong step, your balance slipping as you crossed the room, and before you could even register the fall, Choso was already there. His body moved on instinct alone—fast, sure, protective. He caught you before you could hit the floor, arms wrapping around you like a shield, turning his own body to take the impact instead.

The bed took the weight instead of you.

He braced himself immediately, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other planted firmly against the mattress as he held himself up—every muscle straining so not a single ounce of his weight pressed down on you. His breath came a little uneven, not from exertion, but from the fear that had flashed through him at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were suddenly very aware of how close he was.

His face hovered inches from yours, dark lashes framing eyes softened by something unguarded. Not a fighter. Not a curse. Just a man who loved you too deeply to let you fall.

His hand remained steady against your head, thumb brushing your hair as if grounding himself as much as you. He didn’t move right away—didn’t trust himself to, not until he was certain you were safe. His body stayed tense above you, protective to the very last second.

In that quiet space between breaths, he looked almost unreal. Vulnerable. Devoted. Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with love.

Choso wasn’t on top of you because he wanted to be. He was there because his first instinct—always—was you.

And in that moment, held beneath him while he held the world back for you, it was painfully clear.

He wasn’t just loyal. He was in love.