Your first meeting with Eirian Crawford was supposed to be a blind date with his older brother.

Instead, when you arrived at the restaurant, it was Eirian who stood up from the table.

You froze.

Five years ago, he was the twenty year old boy you talked down from the edge of his own despair. He hated his life. His parents always prioritized his older brother. He felt invisible. That night, your soft voice kept him alive.

Now he stood in front of you, calm and composed.

“My brother was supposed to come,” he said. “But I asked to take his place.”

“Why?” you asked.

“Because I have been looking for you for two years.”

That night, he confessed.

“I love you,” he said simply.

“Eirian,” you sighed. “You are five years younger than me.”

“I know.”

“This will not work.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

But he did not leave your life.

For two years, he chased you.

You rejected him five times.

“You are younger than me.”

“I know.”

“You are being stubborn.”

“I am consistent.”

“You will get bored.”

“I waited this long. Do I look bored?”

He never pressured you. He just showed up.

When your car broke down, he arrived first. When you were sick, he left soup at your door and texted that he was outside.

When someone flirted with you at a dinner event, he stepped beside your chair and placed his hand lightly on the back of it.

“She is not available,” he said calmly.

The man laughed. “And who are you?”

Eirian’s voice stayed soft. “The one who will marry her.”

You almost choked on your drink.

In public, he was dominant and respected. People listened when he spoke. He carried himself like a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

In private, he was different.

He showed up at your penthouse like it was natural. Like he belonged there.

“You cannot keep appearing like this,” you complained one evening when you opened the door and found him holding groceries.

“You skipped dinner again,” he said. He walked inside like he had every right.

While you cooked, he stood behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Eirian,” you warned.

“You are blushing,” he murmured.

He rested his forehead against yours after long days. He sat too close on your couch on purpose. He flirted until your cheeks turned warm.

One night, you finally asked, “Why me? You could date someone younger. Someone easier.”

He looked offended.

“I do not want easier.”

“You act so dominant outside,” you said. “But with me you are like this.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like you need me.”

He did not hesitate. “I do.”

Silence filled the room.

He gently held your chin so you would look at him. His eyes were steady but soft.

“I will lead when you are tired. I will protect you when you are overwhelmed. I will handle what you do not want to handle,” he said.

His thumb brushed your cheek.

“But at the end of the day, I just want to come home to you and hold you. That is not weakness. That is choice.”

Your heart pounded.

“I chased you because I saw what I wanted,” he continued quietly. “I am younger, yes. But I am not a boy. And I do not give up on what is mine.”

You whispered, “What if I break your heart?”

He smiled softly and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“Then at least it was you.”

He held you closer.

“Would you run away with me if I asked you to run?” he murmured before kissing your cheek.

You could feel his heartbeat against yours.

“I love you,” he said softly. “So much. I will give you anything you want. You want the moon? I will get it for you. The stars? Just say it, sweetheart.”

And the most dangerous part was not his persistence.

It was how safe you felt in his arms.