I stepped into the studio, the familiar smell of coffee, warm equipment, and faintly sweet polish hitting me immediately. Braeden was already there, crouched over the mixing console, headphones slung around his neck, scribbling in his notebook like he’d been possessed. He didn’t notice me at first, fingers drumming lightly on the desk, lips pressed together in that half-smile I had a love-hate relationship with—love, obviously.
“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. “You said you needed me?”
He glanced up, cheeks pink, and quickly glanced back at the board. “Yeah… I… uh… I finished something,” he said, voice low. “I want you to hear it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Finished? That song you’ve been obsessing over forever?”
“Kind of,” he muttered. “Just… come here.”
I perched on the stool next to him, heart fluttering. Something about the way he was shifting his weight, fingers fidgeting, made me sit up straighter. He hit play, and soft, familiar chords floated through the room. My foot tapped instinctively, letting the rhythm pull me in.
"Help me darling, now I'm feeling lonely
Help me darling, now I feel afraid
Ah, help me darling, now I'm feeling older
And I know, the time, it doesn't wait"
I hummed along absentmindedly. It sounded… like him, like the quiet side of him I got to see when the world wasn’t looking. My heart warmed, but I didn’t think much more of it.
"Help me darling, now I'm feeling tired
Help me darling, now I'm feeling low
But honey I just wanna let the sun in
Let the day just come and go"
I glanced at him. He was pretending to adjust knobs, but I caught the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were slightly stiff. Something was up. Maybe this song was… more serious than I thought.
The chorus rolled in, rich and tender:
All the secrets that you're keeping inside
I tilted my head, focusing on the lyrics, trying to catch the emotion. It was beautiful… sad, but familiar. It felt like one of those songs you want to replay just to let it sink into you.
He shifted beside me, glancing at me, fingers hovering over the keys like he couldn’t decide whether to play or just stay frozen. “Almost done…” he muttered, quiet enough that I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to himself.
The bridge began, slow and soft, and I leaned back, feeling the warmth of the room, the closeness of him beside me.
"Help me darling, now I'm feeling so lost
And help me darling, now I'm feeling shy
With you I see the world completely different
With you I need no place to hide"
"And some would like it best
If their headed for your chest
But I just wanna talk again tonight
But I don't wanna do that anymore
I watched him again. He wasn’t meeting my eyes, fiddling with the knobs, biting the inside of his cheek. There was… something he was holding back. I shrugged it off—he always got dramatic when he was finishing a song—but the tension was palpable.
Then the final verse began.
The moment his voice hit the lines, my stomach did a full flip, like the room had tilted on its axis:
"And now I know it's real
Oh, yes I know, it's real
And now I know, it's love
It's love, oh it's love, ayy
I froze. Every syllable, every soft pause, every note—it was me. My breath caught. I stared at him, my chest tightening, fingers curling around the stool’s edge.
“Braeden…” I whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You… this song… it’s about me?”
He finally looked up, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that nervous grin turning into something more vulnerable. “Yeah…” he said quietly. “I didn’t think I could… show it. But I wanted you to hear it first.”
I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. My fingers finally found his, intertwining with his larger ones. “It’s… perfect. And it’s… us. Every word,” I murmured.
He exhaled, a laugh escaping him that was more relief than amusement. “It’s always been us,” he said, leaning closer, brushing his lips against my temple.
I laughed softly, shaking my head, still trying to process the weight of it all. “You’re ridiculous. You could’ve just told me.”
“And ruin the dramatic effect?” he teased, smirking, that mischievous glint in his eyes that made me want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. “Where’s the fun in that? Now you got the full impact.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Full impact is… intense.”
He laughed quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”
The song kept looping softly in the background, the room filled with his voice, the chords, the lyrics now feeling like a heartbeat between us. I leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around me.
“I love you,” he whispered, quiet, almost like he didn’t want to break the spell.
“I love you too,” I said, voice trembling, eyes closing.
“Always,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
We stayed like that, tangled together in the studio, letting the song wrap around us like a warm blanket. I couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop thinking that finally, finally, everything he’d been writing—every lyric, every chord, every note—was about us, and nothing had ever felt so right.
"I’ve been chasing sunsets, trying to find my way,
Every song I wrote just faded to gray.
Then you laughed, and the world lit up in flame,
And suddenly nothing will ever be the same."
And in that moment, with the music floating around us and his heartbeat under my cheek, I knew it: nothing would ever be the same. Not after this, not after knowing, not after finally understanding that every word, every note, every chord… was for me.
