Giving small things or favors was never something that irked you. You could say one of your main love languages was gift giving and acts of service. Like this time.

You brought him new socks.

That’s it — socks. Nothing fancy, just a new pack of black ones from the store because you noticed his were ripped and old. That night, he went down on you without a word. No buildup, or teasing, just dropped to his knees while you were brushing your teeth, pulling your shorts down like it was his next mission.

You didn’t even have time to ask.

When you tried to stop him, and mumbled something like, “Babe, you don’t have to—” he just looked up at you with that dead serious stare he got at times and said, “You got me something.”

Like that explained his actions.

A couple of days later, it was a bottle of his cologne. He was running low. You ordered it before he even mentioned it, leaving it on the bathroom sink. You didn't think much of it but that night he stormed into your shared bedroom.

He kissed you that night, slow and sweet, like it was the last thing he’d ever do, like his life depended on it. And then he made love like it was the only way he knew how to say thank you. Maybe it was

But that wasn’t the part that made your chest ache. It was later, when you sat on the couch beside him, wrapped up in a warm blanket, your head resting on his shoulder as he stiffened slightly, then turned to ask, with an almost pleading tone:

“What do you need?”

And you blinked, confused “From what?”

“Well you're coming to me, what do you want me to do?”

You laughed softly at first, thought maybe he was joking.

But he wasn’t.

His shoulders were tense. Jaw locked. He looked ready to stand, like if you told him to go scrub the entire kitchen with a toothbrush, he’d already be halfway to the sink. His pupils slightly dilated and his leg bounced up and down against the hardwood floor.

That’s when it hit you. This wasn’t just gratitude. It wasn’t about being a good partner.

To him, love had a price tag.

Every nice thing came with invisible strings he thought he owed you for. If you cooked, he cleaned like it was owed. If you rubbed his shoulders, he wouldn’t rest until you were trembling from something he did to your body. You left a note in his lunchbox once, just a simple “hope you have a good day”, and when he came home, he barely let you make it to the bed before he had you gasping his name in the dark.

Not out of desire. Not always. Sometimes it was out of obligation.

You saw it in the way he watched you afterward, waiting and tense, like he was checking to see if you were satisfied enough to let him breathe again.

One night, it broke your heart wide open. You had made him tea. That was it. He looked tired so you put on the kettle. And when you handed the tea to him, he didn’t smile. Just took it and stared into the mug like it was heavy with guilt or perhaps a need to grant you something?

“I didn’t ask for this” he muttered

“I know,” you said gently. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

The words shattered your heart.