His mouth is set in a hard line at first, like he’s holding something back.
Like he’s trying not to move.
And for a second—just one—I think I made a mistake.
That I misread everything.
That he’s looking at me and seeing all the reasons I’m not enough.
Then his breath catches.
Sharp.
Audible.
And everything shifts.
His eyes drop.
Slowly.
Greedy.
Intently.
Like he’s taking me in piece by piece.
And not missing a thing.
The tension in his mouth breaks.
That hard line softens.
Not into a smile.
Into something heavier.
Something that makes my pulse spike.
Because that look?
That is not disappointment or disgust or any of the things I’ve been taught by society to expect.
That is not a man settling.
That is a man hit.
Hard.
“You’re…” he starts, then stops.
Like words aren’t cutting it.
Like they’re not enough.
My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears.
And suddenly—I’m not thinking about flaws.