It was not the big romantic gestures that endeared him to you; it was the little, quiet things

Like making sure your coffee was sweet enough, even if you forgot. Like brushing away a strand of hair from your face during a conversation, as if he really needed to see you. Like his hand finding yours and tracing little circles on your palm, almost in a way of memorizing your touch

One evening, legs tangled in a tattered quilt, you sat on the couch, gently lit by rain tapping at the window. You were reading while he occupied himself aimlessly on his phone; neither was inclined to break the silence that enveloped you both

Then, a soft, low, rough question was whispered into your ear "Do you think about forever?"

You lifted your head. His gaze was already pinned to you. There had been something helpless in the way he asked-not demanding, not expecting, just wondering

You set your book down, adjusted your position on him, and leaned in until your forehead rested on his shoulder "I think of you," you whispered

He sighed in response, wrapping his arms tighter around you, holding you as if you were something priceless. Something sacred. Maybe, for that moment, you truly were "This is why I love you, y'know?" He whispered into your ear as he pressed a kiss on your head