You’re standing near his car now, the night air cool between you. Kalen’s leaning against the door, fingers running through his hair, breathing hard.

He finally speaks, voice low and rough:

“I just… I saw red. I couldn’t stand the way they looked at you. Like you were small. Like they didn’t know who the fuck you are.”

You step closer. His eyes flick up to meet yours.

“I know who I am,” you say softly. “And I know who you are. You don’t have to protect me like I’ll break, Kal. I’m strong enough to stand on my own.”

His shoulders tense.

“I know you are.” His voice cracks a little. “But I’m not used to this. Not used to someone who… doesn’t need me to throw punches to prove I care.”

You take his hand gently. He doesn’t pull away.

“Then maybe it’s time you get used to being loved like you’re more than a weapon.”

His breath stutters. His grip tightens around yours.

And just like that, the fight inside him melts. Not because he’s giving up. But because—for the first time—he realizes being soft with you might be the bravest thing he’s ever done.