all the love in the world
requested! thank you.
content: fluff, mild insecurity, overwhelming love (the good kind)
valentineās day had never really meant much to you.
it always arrived with this strange, hollow feeling ā overpriced flowers from someone who forgot your favorite color, rushed dinners at noisy restaurants, half-hearted kisses from people who treated romance like a checklist. you stopped expecting much after a while. it was easier that way.
so this year, you told pedro not to make a big deal out of it.
āwe can just order food and watch something,ā youād shrugged a week before. āi donāt really care about valentineās.ā
heād hummed. nodded. kissed your temple.
and then apparently ignored you completely. because when you opened the door to his place that evening, you actually froze.
it wasnāt tacky. it wasnāt overwhelming in a clichĆ© way. it wasā¦ intentional.
soft golden lights. candles ā not too many, just enough to make everything glow warm. your favorite flowers. not red roses. never red roses. he remembered you once said they felt impersonal.
there was music playing low in the background ā the kind you always put on when youāre cooking together.
standing there in that soft sweater you love, hair a little messy, looking at you like youād just walked in wearing a crown.
āhi,ā he said, suddenly shy. āhappy valentineās.ā
he stepped closer, hands hovering at your waist like he wasnāt sure if he should touch you yet.
āi know you said you donāt care about it,ā he started carefully, ābut i care about you. so.ā
you laughed softly ā but your eyes were already glassy.
he pulled your chair out at the table. cooked your favorite meal. not fancy-for-the-sake-of-fancy. just thoughtful. heād even plated it in that slightly chaotic, artistic way he does when heās trying to impress you.
there was a small gift waiting beside your plate. not expensive. not flashy.
inside was a little handwritten book. just pages heād printed and stapled together ā moments. tiny things he loves about you. the way you scrunch your nose when you concentrate. how you steal fries off his plate. the exact look you give him when youāre about to say something sarcastic.
you didnāt realize when the tears started falling.
āhey, heyāā he immediately leaned forward, panic flickering across his face. ādid iā is it too much? i can tone it down. i justāā
you shook your head, covering your mouth because you were smiling and crying at the same time.
āitās not too much,ā you whispered. āitās justā¦ no oneās everā¦ā
you couldnāt even finish. and thatās when something shifted in him.
because instead of feeling proud, instead of feeling like he nailed it ā he felt something else.
his hand came up to cup your cheek gently, thumb brushing away tears like they offended him personally.
ābaby,ā he murmured. āthis isnāt evenā¦ this is bare minimum.ā
āi shouldāve done more. i shouldāveā i donāt know. flown you somewhere. filled the whole place with flowers. hired a violinist. something bigger.ā
you actually laughed through your tears.
but he was already spiraling internally. how many years had you gone without someone doing this for you? how many valentineās days had you pretended you didnāt care because it hurt to expect something?
and suddenly the candles and dinner felt small compared to the ache in your voice.
āyou deserve someone who makes you feel chosen,ā he said quietly, almost to himself. āevery time. not just today.ā
your hand slid over his wrist, grounding him.
āyou did,ā you whispered. āyou did make me feel chosen.ā
he looked at you then ā really looked at you ā and something in his chest softened and broke all at once.
because you werenāt overwhelmed by the decorations. you were overwhelmed by being seen.
so he leaned his forehead against yours, voice lower now, steadier.
āokay,ā he said softly. āthen next year iāll do even more.ā
you smiled. āyou donāt have to.ā
āi want to,ā he corrected gently.
he kissed you slow. warm. not showy. not performative. just his hands cradling your face like youāre something fragile and sacred.
later, when you were curled up against him on the couch ā shoes kicked off, makeup slightly smudged from happy tears ā he kept glancing around the room like he was mentally taking notes.
more candles next time. maybe a playlist you curate together. maybe that little weekend cabin you once mentioned.
because to him, loving you wasnāt about impressing you. it was about building a new memory over every old disappointment. and even though you thought the night couldnāt possibly get better ā he held you a little tighter and whispered against your hair,
āthis is just the beginning.ā
ā¦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work.
Ā© lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.
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