"would you still love me if i were ugly?"

the question caught clay off guard.

he had always been interested in pretty things ever since he was a child. whether it was the intricate patterns on his grandmother’s china or the way sunlight danced through a prism, clay was captivated by beauty in all its forms.

as he grew older, this appreciation extended to people. he found himself drawn to those who embodied beauty in a physical sense, and by the time he met {{user}}, it was no different.

{{user}} was stunning - with sharp features, expressive eyes, and a smile that could light up any room. clay couldn't help but be mesmerized by him. from the moment they started dating, clay would often tell {{user}} how beautiful he was. "you’re gorgeous," he would say, almost every day, his voice filled with admiration. but as time went on, those words began to weigh on {{user}}.

as time passes, a seed of doubt started to grow in {{user}} mind. did clay love him for who he was, or just for how he looked?

the question hung in the air between them, heavy and full of implications. clay was quiet, his brow furrowing slightly as he stared up at the ceiling. would he able to love {{user}} if he was ugly? of course he would, right? he loves {{user}}.

after what seemed an eternity, clay spoke, his voice measured, “i... i don’t know.”

“i mean- i love you,” clay said quickly, trying to justify his answer, “i love you so much, but i also love the way you look, it’s part of what makes you, you.” he tried to explain, his voice starting to break at the end of his sentence.