His breathing is out of step. The chest going up and down slowly. The hands firmly on your waist, but the touch - that touch - is more than physical. It’s something that says: don’t leave. Stay here. With me. Please.

You are on him, the bodies intertwined, really naked - of clothes, of fear, of armor. The hot skin, the world reduced to that mattress and the yellowish light that dances on the wall.

“Keep talking...” he whispers, his voice sturked, almost like a request.

You stop, your fingers still brushing his hair, your mouth near your sweaty cheek.

“Why?” Your voice is also low, but full of affection.

He closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against something inside him - something old, painful, broken.

“I need to know that it’s you who’s touching me.”

Silence. A whole second of silence full of weight and tenderness.

You swallow dryly, your eyes watering.

“It’s me, Gerard.”

His voice is firm, even if trembling inside.

“It’s me. I always was. And I’m here. I’m with you.”

You kiss his forehead slowly.

“You don’t need to run, you don’t need to pretend anything. You can feel everything. You can be you.”

He inhales deeply, his hands going up his back, shaking a little.

“It’s just... sometimes I... I don’t feel real. You know? I’m so afraid that this here... that you... is something in my head.”

You hold his face between your hands.

“So let me prove it to you.”

And you speak.

You talk about that summer, about the day he made you laugh until your stomach hurt. About the time he stumbled and fell face down on his pillow with an “I love you” choked in laughter. About how you noticed that he always squeezes his sleeves when he’s anxious. About how he snores softly when he’s happy. About how his smile is the most honest thing in the world.

And with each word, he loosens up a little more. The eyes close. The heart slows down.

“Continue...” he asks once again.

“You make me feel alive,” you say, with your forehead glued to his. “You are my home, Gerard. Even messy. Even scared. Even when you don’t believe in yourself - I do. I will always believe.”

His tears touch the pillow.

But he smiles.

Really.

Because now he knows.

It’s you who’s there.

It’s you who loves him all.

And he’s safe.