You’d only been officially dating Drew for three weeks, but everything between you felt so natural it was easy to forget how new it still was.

Date nights had quickly become your routine — wine, takeout, and Drew’s hoodie permanently claimed by you. Tonight, you were both curled up on the couch, empty pizza box on the coffee table, “Superbad” playing in the background but mostly ignored.

You laughed at something dumb he said, stretching a little where you sat cross-legged. Your cropped tank rode up slightly, revealing the soft curve of your stomach — not dramatically, but just enough.

Drew looked down with a grin and gave your belly a gentle poke. “Damn, baby,” he teased with a smirk, “someone got a little food pouch goin’ on there.”

He said it like it was the most harmless thing in the world, grinning and tugging you into his chest with a chuckle like it was all just cute banter.

But your brain didn’t register it as cute.

It registered it like a slap.

You laughed, but it was sharp and hollow. You pulled the hoodie down over your stomach immediately, trying to subtly shift in your seat, arms crossing without realizing. You stopped looking at the screen.

Drew didn’t notice at first. He was still giggling to himself, rubbing circles into your shoulder, completely unaware he’d just lit a match in a room full of gasoline.

Your chest felt tight. That word — pouch — repeated over and over again. Years of insecurity bubbled up fast and ugly. All the mirror angles you tried to avoid. The “don’t eat too much” voice in your head. The awful thoughts you’d worked so hard to silence.

You stood up abruptly.

“I’m just gonna use the bathroom.”

He blinked, glancing up. “You good?”

You gave him a weak smile. “Yeah. Just… give me a sec.”

In the bathroom, you shut the door and stared at yourself in the mirror. You lifted your tank, just enough to look at your stomach. Your chest burned. Rationally, you knew it was just your body. Soft. Normal. Real.

But tonight, all you could hear was that word.

You were in there longer than you meant to be. Drew eventually knocked, concern laced in his voice.

“Baby?”

You opened the door slowly.

He looked at you, really looked, and something in his expression shifted.

“You okay?”

You shook your head a little. “I know you were joking, Drew, but… can you not make comments like that? Even if it’s just teasing. That’s a really sensitive thing for me and I’m— I’m trying really hard to be okay with it.”

He stared at you, horror flooding his face. “Wait. The pouch thing?”

You just nodded, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

“Oh, shit. Baby—” His whole demeanor collapsed. He stepped forward but didn’t touch you yet, like he didn’t want to overwhelm you. “I thought I was being funny. I didn’t— God, I would never joke if I knew that. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It’s fine. It just kinda… spiraled me.”

“Not fine,” he said gently, his hands finding yours, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re allowed to have stuff that’s off-limits, and I should’ve asked instead of assuming I could just joke about your body like that.”

You blinked back tears. “I don’t want to be the girl who gets upset over one stupid comment—”

“No,” he interrupted, cupping your face now, his voice softer than ever. “You get to have feelings. And if something makes you feel shitty, I wanna know so I never, ever do it again.”

You nodded. You believed him.

And when he kissed your forehead and pulled you against his chest, holding you like you were something fragile but loved, it didn’t undo the spiral — but it helped you breathe through it.