You had always lived with a stutter. It wasn’t constant—some days were better than others—but when it came, it felt like a wall between you and the world. Words, simple ones even, would snag in your throat, like they didn’t want to be seen. Like they were afraid of being heard wrong.

But with Caelus, it was different.

Caelus was warmth. He was steady hands and soft eyes that never flinched when you paused mid-word or repeated yourself for the third time. When you couldn’t say “I love you” without a full ten seconds of stuttering, Caelus had said it back for both of you, pressing his lips to your forehead and whispering, “I know, baby. I know.”

It should’ve been enough but the quiet kindness didn’t survive in public.

The first time it happened, you were both at a party. You had tried to introduce himself to Caelus’ friends, words stalling at the back of your throat like a jammed record. One of them laughed, not cruelly, just awkwardly, trying to lighten the tension.

Caelus laughed.

“Jesus, just spit it out already,” he said, and the room went quiet in a different way. You froze. Your mouth opened, closed. Heat climbed up your neck. You couldn’t look at anyone.

Later that night, you said nothing. Caelus kissed your cheek and told you he was proud of how you put yourself out there. You smiled with tight lips and didn’t say how the laugh still echoed in your skull.

The second time, it hurt worse.

A friend’s house party. Loud music, louder voices, red cups, and flickering lights. Caelus’ arm slung casually over your shoulders as you both walked in, but you could already feel it—the shift. Caelus’ fingers twitched, then fell away.

“Yo, Cae!” someone called from the kitchen. “You brought the mute again?”

Laughter, sharp like broken glass.

You froze. Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t say anything. You never did in crowds.

Caelus laughed too—just a little too loudly. “Nah, they do talk. Eventually. If you’ve got all night.”

Another round of laughter. Your chest tightened. You looked away, toward the door, but Caelus was already pulling you deeper into the party.

You didn’t say anything all night.

That night, you sat on the edge of your shared bed, hands clenched in your lap. The humiliation still burned beneath your skin. You tried to introduce himself, tried to joke, tried to speak — and failed, again and again.

Caelus stepped into the room, unbuttoning his shirt, the smell of alcohol lingering on his clothes.

“W-why do you do that?” you asked, voice hoarse. “Why ar-are you ssso kind when it’s just us but ah-act like I embarrass you out in public?”

Caelus turned slowly, a guilty shadow falling over his features. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“E-embarrassed?” You bit the word out, bitter and broken. “Be-because I d-do that enough for b-both of us, right?”

“D-do you know how h-hard it is to speak?” Your voice cracked. “Ev-every day, to w-want to say s-something and have your o-own m-mouth betray you? And y-you—” You broke off, tears welling in your eyes. “Y-you’re a-ashamed of me.”

Caelus sank to his knees in front of you. “I’m not ashamed,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against your leg. “I’m scared. That one day, you’ll realize you deserve someone who doesn’t flinch. Someone who never looks away.”