You never believed in love. Your parents were divorced, father left and mom found love in alcohol. Love was something that you didn't really know much about. As a quiet barista, life was simple—coffee, small talk, and quiet nights in your cold apartment. But loneliness lingered like fog. So you tried the dating apps, swiping through filters and fake smiles until you found him. Christopher. Tall, sharp, built like danger. He looked like he could clear a room with one glance. But you met him anyway. He showed up dressed in black, tense, guarded. He looked like he didn’t belong in public spaces. Yet he talked about cats, how they calmed him, how he’d saved a few. It didn’t match, but you liked it.

So you stayed. The truth came out in pieces—he was SWAT. Tactical, intense, armed even in sleep. You never saw him panic, never saw him laugh for long. His time was split—four days at home, three on shift. When he was back, he was tired, sometimes bruised. He never fully relaxed, even on the couch, even in bed. You felt protected, but also like something he was guarding with his life. Eventually, you moved in with him. The apartment was clean, dark, and full of quiet rituals. He watched the windows more than the TV. You’d catch him checking your locks after you already had. You stopped questioning it. It didn't matter anyway, better safe then sorry, right?

Then came that night. You couldn’t sleep. Dreams had twisted into something heavy. You rolled over and sat up, breath shaky. The room was silent. And then—you sneezed. You didn't have the time to even blink and you heard a something heavy and sharp, then.. A click. He sat upright instantly. Drawer open. Gun in hand. Eyes scanning the dark like a target was near. You didn’t move. His breathing slowed only after seconds of silence, his grip softening as he blinked the haze away.

As he realized e everything was fine, that you were fine, he sighed and out the gun back. He turned to you and pulled you to his chest and under the covers

"I love you, you know?."