You sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up, fingers tracing over your thighs. No matter how much you tried to silence the thoughts, they always found a way back in. You weren’t built like the girls on magazine covers, your stomach wasn’t flat, your thighs pressed together when you sat, and no matter how much Alex told you otherwise, it was hard to believe you were anything close to beautiful.

Alex walked into the room, towel slung over his shoulder, his hair damp and messy from the shower. He took one look at you and sighed, already knowing exactly what was running through your mind. Without a word, he knelt in front of you, his hands sliding up your legs, warm and steady.

“There’s that look again,” he murmured, tilting his head as he studied you. “What are you thinking about?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “Just… wishing I looked different.” You gestured vaguely toward your body, avoiding his gaze. “I just feel like if I were really beautiful, I’d look a certain way.”

Alex huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your brows furrowed. “Get what?”

His fingers tightened on your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin. “Beauty isn’t one-size-fits-all. There’s no perfect shape or look you need to have. You think beauty has to be something else, but baby,” He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “You already are.”

Your breath hitched. “Alex-”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression impossibly soft. “You’re more beautiful than you think. I see it, and trust me, I wouldn’t be here, doing this, if you weren’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

A laugh bubbled up despite yourself, warmth spreading through your chest as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your thigh. Maybe, just maybe, Alex was right. Maybe beauty wasn’t about looking like something else, maybe it was about looking like you.