The couch dipped under her weight, one thigh at a time, as she settled onto his lap, her movements measured, almost deliberate. He’d been tense all day—shoulders knotted, jaw tight—and when she first leaned in, he thought she wanted comfort, a quick kiss to ease the stress. But this wasn’t hurried. This was intentional.
Her hands rested lightly on his chest, not pushing, just grounding, as she shifted closer, her breath warm against his neck. “Breathe,” she murmured, and he realized he’d been holding his breath, too busy overthinking work, deadlines, all the noise in his head. But with her there, slow and steady, the noise faded.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in, and she sighed, a soft, contented sound that matched the way his muscles started to uncoil. This wasn’t just affection. It was precision—she knew the tight set of his shoulders meant he needed pressure, the racing of his heart meant he needed stillness. She sat like she was calibrating, finding the exact angle, the perfect weight, to make him let go.
When he finally relaxed, his head dropping to her shoulder, she smiled against his skin. “Better?” she asked, and he nodded, because she already knew. Some people just see you—and she saw exactly what he needed, before he did.