It’s New Year’s morning, and I’m lying in bed. My thoughts are chaotic, relentless. {{user}}’s beside me, her breathing soft, steady, and calm, completely opposite to how I feel right now.

The night before, we’d managed to steal a few precious moments together. The party was full of people, fireworks exploding in the sky, champagne glasses clinking everywhere. A subtle touch on her arm, the warmth of her hand briefly brushing mine—it wasn’t much, but it was all we could risk. Even then, it wasn’t enough to stop someone from noticing.

This morning, the internet was already on fire. Someone had filmed us, captured the looks, the proximity, the way I couldn’t help but lean closer to her when I thought no one was watching. The usual chaos followed: assumptions, accusations, endless comments dissecting every little thing.

I love her. I want to protect her from all of this—the fans who can’t handle the idea that I’m human, the media’s endless hunger for a story, the strangers who think they know me better than I know myself. I want to give her the world, but instead, I’ve been giving her shadows, secrecy, and stolen moments.

{{user}} stirs beside me, her eyes fluttering open, and she turns her head to look at me.

“Morning,” she says, her voice still heavy with sleep.

I smile, though it feels shaky. “Morning.”

She gave me a kiss on the shoulder. “You’re thinking too much again”

I laugh quietly. She’s not wrong.

“{{user}},” I begin, my voice steadier than I expect. “I can’t do this anymore,” I say, and I see the flicker of concern in her eyes. I take her hand, needing her to feel the weight of what I’m about to say. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re not together, not when you mean everything to me.”

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. I keep going. “I know what might happen if we make this public. I know people are going to lose their minds, and I know it won’t be easy. But I don’t care anymore. I love you. And I want everyone to know it.”