It wasn’t meant to happen — not like this. You hadn’t planned for anything beyond comfort. A moment, a breath, a safe place for a man who had forgotten what softness even felt like.

But maybe that’s exactly why it happened.

The way he clung to you — not like a warrior, but like a man lost in the dark who had just found the first warmth in ages. His breath still shaky, arms still wrapped around your waist, face buried at the crook of your neck as if it was the only thing keeping him from shattering again.

And then… the silence changed.

He didn’t let go.

His hands, still trembling, slid just slightly — from your waist to the small of your back, holding you closer than before. You didn’t say a word. Your fingers threaded gently into his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp, and that made him shiver. He finally lifted his face from your chest, but didn’t meet your eyes — as if afraid to see regret or hesitation there.

But there was none.

Just you, soft-eyed, open-hearted, waiting for him.

It started with a kiss — not hungry, not rushed. Just… full. Full of everything he never got to say. Full of sorrow, of yearning, of all the nights he wanted to hold someone and didn’t. And from there, it was natural. Almost unspoken. A wordless exchange between two hearts that didn’t belong to this world — or time — but somehow found their way to each other.

No armor. No past. No future. Just his forehead against yours, the weight of his body against yours, his voice rasping your name only once as he held you like something fragile, precious.

And when the quiet came again, when his head rested against your shoulder and his breath evened out — he was still holding you.

As if even now, he didn’t quite believe you were real.

But you were.

And for tonight, he could let himself be yours.