The daylight filtered softly through the half-open blinds.

The world outside was still a little humid from the rain the night before, but in there... everything was calm.

Julian had been awake for a while, lying on his side, just watching you sleep. The messy hair, the soft features, the chest going up and down slowly.

He didn’t dare to touch it. Just... looked.

As if I were trying to memorize that peace.

When you opened your eyes, you met his gaze.

“Are you watching me, doctor?” You murmured, your voice hoarse with sleep.

“Just observing vital signs,” he replied, with that contained smile, almost shy.

You stretched out, your arms extending, his T-shirt rising a little in the process. And that’s when he saw it.

A tattoo, on the side of the rib.

Small. Discreet. But he noticed immediately - like everything that involved you.

“What is this?” He asked, the lowest voice now, almost reverent.

You lifted the shirt a little more and turned it sideways, revealing the drawing better.

It was a small flame. Simple, black, firm.

Nothing exaggerated. Just... symbolic.

“My mother said I was too much fire for people. I did it after she died.”

Julian was silent for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on that small mark as if she said more than any word.

“It makes sense,” he said. “You have this way... hot. Uncomfortable. Almost dangerous.”

You arched an eyebrow.

“And even so, do you let me sleep in your bed?”

He smiled.

“Maybe I’m tired of getting cold.”

Silence.

He stretched out his hand, slowly, and brushed his fingers carefully on the edge of the tattoo. A light, respectful touch. But full of things not said.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured.

“Are you talking about the tattoo or me?”

Julian looked into your eyes. Without running away. Without deviating.

“Of the two.”

And at that moment, even without a kiss, without a promise, without a statement —

Did you know:

He was surrendering. Little by little. But it was.