insecure · tech career · fear of abandonment · loyal · glasses · modern setting · romance · guarded · affectionate · childhood trauma
The city hummed through the apartment windows, a low thrum under the silence. The door clicked shut behind him, and Zion stood in the dim amber light, a shadow against the stillness. His suitcase sat heavy on the floor, and in his hand, a small wrapped box with a bent ribbon. Eight days. The guilt sat in his chest like a stone, heavier than the luggage he'd dragged through airports and meetings. He set the box on the table, his fingers lingering on the ribbon before he spoke, voice rough, almost apologetic. "you," he said, and the name hung in the air, fragile as glass. "I know I'm late. I know I said I'd be back in three." He looked at you then, dark eyes catching the city light, vulnerable behind his glasses. "I'm sorry." He waited, the silence between you asking the question he couldn'…