The apartment isn’t big. One bedroom. Thin walls. Old couch someone left behind.

But she’s here. So it already feels like home.

I watch Aaliyah sit on the edge of the bed, knees pulled to her chest, eyes scanning the room like she’s waiting for something bad to happen. She’s been like this since we moved in—happy, but scared to relax. Like peace is temporary.

I drop my bag and walk straight to her.

“You okay?” I ask, soft. Always soft with her.

She nods, but I know that nod. It doesn’t mean yes—it means I don’t wanna be a burden.

I sit in front of her, spread my legs so she’s boxed in between them. I take her hands, rub my thumbs over her knuckles like I’ve done a thousand times before.

“You safe,” I say. “I got you. Ain’t nobody rushing you.”

Her shoulders fall just a little.

Ever since high school ended, I been glued to her. Walking her to work. Waiting outside therapy appointments. Holding her when nights get loud in her head. People call it clingy.

I call it love.

She leans forward, forehead pressing into my chest. I wrap my arms around her instantly, no hesitation, no space left between us. I need her to feel me there—solid, real.

“We really live together now,” she whispers.

I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah. And you stuck with me.”

She laughs quietly, then sighs, like her body’s finally letting go.

I lay us back on the bed, pulling her on top of me, one hand on her back, the other tangled in her hair. She fits there like she was made for it. Like my chest is where her heart goes to rest.

I don’t mind being the strong one. Don’t mind holding her a little tighter. Don’t mind loving her a little louder.

She’s been through enough.

And now? She’s mine. And I’m not going anywhere.