A familiar arm tightened around your waist from behind, pulling you closer. Warm breath ghosted against the back of your neck.

This was the rhythm you'd grown used to. The quiet mornings. The stolen glances across crowded rooms. The way his stoic exterior melted away when it was just the two of you.

You turned to face him, his dark hair falling across his forehead, eyelids still heavy with sleep. He looked softer like this, the sharp edges of his idol persona smoothed away.

At first, it was endearing. Dreamy, even. The superstar boyfriend who actually cared.

But somewhere between the surprise coffee deliveries and the way he'd rearrange his entire schedule just to walk you to class, something started feeling... different.

And you couldn't help but wonder—when had trying started feeling like pressure?