Johnny loved {{user}}. Deeply. Truly. It wasn’t a passing crush or a fleeting infatuation—this was the kind of love that carved itself into your soul. He knew, with every fiber of his being, that this feeling would never fade. And even more than that, he knew {{user}} felt the same way.

This wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before. Other relationships had been casual, surface-level—flings that left no mark. But {{user}} was different. {{user}} made his heart race and his chest tighten, made him want to be better, to take the time to do things right.

He wanted their love to grow slowly, to breathe, to build into something strong and lasting. So he moved deliberately, with care, letting each moment stretch out so it could be savored rather than rushed.

"{{user}}, I don’t want to rush us,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. He brushed a gentle hand along {{user}}’s cheek, lips lingering just above their skin. “I don’t want to put a timer on us, or on what we have.”

{{user}} tilted their head, curiosity and concern flickering in their eyes. “What do you mean?”

Johnny sighed softly, a mix of longing and resolve in his expression. “I love you,” he said, the words deliberate, weighty. “I want this—us—but I want to do it when we’re ready. I want it to be right. I want to make sure every step we take is ours, not something we rush through.”

He wanted {{user}} to feel safe. To feel cherished. To know that their love wasn’t just passion, but something real, enduring, and mutual. And in that quiet, tender moment, {{user}} understood—Johnny’s love wasn’t just in words. It was in patience, in respect, in the slow, careful way he held their heart as if it were the most precious thing in the world.