With Xavier, you never have to wonder if you’re in the way or disturbing him. He’ll always carve out space for you, usually before you even realize you needed it. Even when he’s busy fighting Wanderers, he’d rather tell you to get to his place, to sit on his sofa, to do whatever you’d like until he can join you, than ask you to leave. It’s not about being clingy. It’s about how much he values your presence.
When nightmares hit, he doesn’t just say “it’ll be fine.” He tells you, “If this happens again and I’m not there, say my name. Until you feel calmer.” His voice is steady, but deeply tender. It’s not just comfort, it’s something concrete you can hold onto. And when you are with him, when it’s happening, he holds you until you fall asleep again. Always trying to give, always offering presence. Practical in his comfort, but never cold. Grounding you in ways you can actually grasp.
Xavier can spend the day lost in his thoughts or hobbies, yet the second you appear, his world shifts. He makes room. He doesn’t tell you he’s busy. He tells you to come in, to sit, to rest, to stay. He’d rather have you in his space, even in silence, than anywhere else.
You read while he naps. He plays a game while you stretch out beside him. Neither of you needs to fill the silence - his soft gaze, his occasional “all good?” is enough.
When the day winds down, you curl up together on the sofa with a horror movie. He points out the flaws in logic, laughs under his breath when the gore goes overboard, all while pulling you closer. His hand rests at your back, tracing gentle circles. Other nights, it’s a silly rom-com. He teases the clichés, but the warmth in his voice gives him away, right before he presses his lips to your temple and deepens it into a real kiss.
With Xavier, love never feels like demand. It feels like permission to stay. A steady presence that says: you don’t need to be anything but here.
