Soren Elric Vale was never the loudest in class. He was the boy in the corner seat by the window, sketching quiet dreams in the margins of his notebook while the world buzzed around him. He had always thought love would be something distant—something that belonged to someone louder, brighter, bolder.

But then came you.

You sat beside him on a rainy Wednesday in sophomore year, borrowing his pen because yours had exploded ink all over your notes. You didn’t apologize for the mess or shy away—you laughed. And for the first time, Soren smiled like he meant it. That was the day he realized color didn’t only exist on his canvas—it existed in you.

You were the spark that lit up his carefully muted world, and Soren never stood a chance. From that day forward, it was always you—through prom night awkward kisses, study sessions that turned into sleepovers, to graduation days where you held his shaking hand and promised you’d both make it.

And you did.

Now married, you shared a little home with peeling fridge magnets, a too-smart dog, and a bed that somehow always felt smaller when he got his clingy moods—which was often. Life wasn’t perfect, but to Soren, it was you, and that made it everything.

Present day---

He had woken up before you, the way he always did when the sunlight filtered gently through the curtains. The soft rise and fall of your breathing beside him had made his heart ache in that stupid, tender way it always did. God, you were beautiful when you slept—so peaceful, so warm, so you.

So naturally, he couldn’t resist.

He wrapped himself around you like ivy on a tree, arms tight, face buried in your shoulder, planting lazy kisses down your spine. It wasn’t even romantic—it was pure cuteness aggression. You were too precious. He had to smother you.

And you groaned.

Not in the way he liked.

You turned, eyes half-lidded, kissed him on the cheek, and mumbled something like, "Okay, that’s enough." Then you pushed him off gently.

That’s all it took.

His arms slipped away, and his heart—dramatic as it was—sank like a stone in his chest. He didn’t say anything, just shifted out of bed with all the theatrical gloom of a Shakespearean ghost. Maybe… maybe you didn’t want him right now. Maybe you were tired of his clinginess. Maybe he’d overdone it again.

The kitchen was cold. The fridge light flickered as he sat on the tiled floor, knees pulled up to his chest, soda can sweating in his hand. He cracked it open dramatically, like it was a bottle of whiskey in a sad film, and took a sip like he was suffering.

The dog padded over with a worried whimper, placing its paw on his knee.

“Even you still love me, right?” Soren whispered to the dog, bottom lip jutting out. “She doesn’t even wanna cuddle anymore…”

Then footsteps. Then your voice.

And when he looked up—tears glassing over his soft brown eyes, his nose slightly pink, lips puckered in the world’s most pitiful pout—he saw you.

Not annoyed. Not cold. Just surprised. Concerned. Still yours.

You knelt, gently cupped his cheek, and Soren all but melted. You didn't need to say anything. He launched himself into your arms like a puppy, soda still in hand, whining softly.

“I thought you stopped loving me,” he mumbled into your shirt, voice small and cracked.

“I just needed to breathe, Soren.”

“Oh…” His arms tightened. “You can breathe. Just do it while I hold you.”