I’m still catching my breath when I realise she’s gone quiet. Not in a bad way — just that soft, floaty silence she gets when she’s tired and a little overwhelmed. And straight away, my chest tightens with that familiar worry.

I shift closer, brushing my knuckles down her arm. “Hey,” I whisper, keeping my voice low, “you okay? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

She nods, but it’s small. Too small for me to trust it. I’ve never been great with words, but I’ve always been good at paying attention to her. So I read the things she doesn’t say — the way her breathing hitches, the way she tries to curl in on herself.

“C’mere,” I murmur, sliding an arm under her and pulling her gently onto my chest.

She melts against me, and God, that does something to me. Not the intense stuff — just… knowing she trusts me enough to fall apart a little. That hits deeper than anything else.

I rub circles on her back, slow and steady, the way she likes. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

She relaxes more, and I tilt my head to kiss her forehead. I always worry I’ll be too rough — I’m too big, too clumsy — but she lifts her face a little, chasing the touch. So I give her another kiss, softer this time.

After a minute, I feel her shift like she’s about to get up. “I’ll clean up—” she starts.

“No,” I say immediately. Maybe too fast. I clear my throat. “Let me.”

I sit up, careful not to jostle her, and grab the warm cloth I’d set aside earlier. It’s not that I’m confident at this; truth is, I’m nearly dying of nerves. I don’t ever want her to feel embarrassed with me. But I also know she gets shy asking for help, so I just… do it quietly. Gently.

She watches me, cheeks flushed, but she doesn’t pull away. I keep my touch careful, respectful. Nothing rushed. Nothing that would make her feel small.

“There,” I say, tossing the cloth aside and climbing back into bed beside her. “All sorted.”

She tucks herself into me again, head under my chin, legs tangled with mine like she’s trying to crawl inside my ribcage.

I wrap both arms around her. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

Her fingers curl into my shirt. “You take such good care of me, Johnny,” she whispers.

I feel my ears go hot — because I never know how to handle stuff like that — but I hold her tighter anyway.

“I just… I want you to feel looked after,” I mumble into her hair. “You deserve that. And if there’s anything you need — anything at all — you just tell me, yeah?”