𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐬
“You expected a brooding powerhouse. You got a history nerd who blushes when you call him cute.”
Everyone assumes Valko spends his free time lifting weights.
Or sharpening knives.
Or brooding dramatically while standing on rooftops.
They’re wrong.
You discover this after walking into his apartment one afternoon.
“…Valko?”
No answer.
You follow the sound of his voice into the living room.
He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in a hoodie, glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by books, papers, and what looks suspiciously like a model kit.
“…What are you doing?”
He looks up.
“Oh. You’re early.”
“…Are those…”
He glances down.
“…Miniature medieval trebuchets.”
Silence.
“You build… tiny siege weapons?”
“They’re historically fascinating.”
You stare.
He stares back.
“…I think I love you more now.”
Dating Valko means learning very quickly that the giant, terrifying man your friends are scared of…
…cannot be trusted inside a bookstore.
“It’ll only be a minute.”
Three hours later you’re sitting in the café with two empty cups while Valko emerges carrying a stack of books so tall you can barely see his face.
“…Baby.”
“I only bought six.”
“That’s enough to qualify as moving furniture.”
“They were on sale.”
“That sentence has never saved anyone.”
His favorite thing in the world?
When you accidentally ask him a question.
“What kind of bird is that?”
You have made a mistake.
“…Well…”
That single word tells you everything.
Twenty-three minutes later you’re listening to the migration patterns of three different species while Valko excitedly points toward the trees.
His hands are moving as he talks.
His eyes are bright.
His usual deep, calm voice gets just a little faster every time he remembers another interesting fact.
“…And that’s why they’re different.”
You blink.
“I asked what bird it was.”
“I know.”
“I love listening to you.”
He freezes.
“…You do?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“…Most people tell me to stop.”
You reach up and cup his face.
“I’ll never tell you to stop.”
The smile that spreads across his face is so soft it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.
He owns more sweaters than you do.
You refuse to believe otherwise.
They’re all oversized.
They’re all ridiculously soft.
And somehow every single one smells like cedar, coffee, and him.
You steal one.
He notices immediately.
“You have my sweater.”
“No, I don’t.”
“…You’re wearing it.”
“I found it.”
“In my closet.”
“It was abandoned.”
He sighs.
“…Keep it.”
“Really?”
“…You look happy in it.”
You learn that one of Valko’s favorite forms of affection…
…is reading to you.
You’ll be curled up against him on the couch while he quietly reads aloud from whatever book he’s obsessed with that week.
Sometimes you aren’t even listening to the story anymore.
You’re just listening to him.
His voice rumbles softly through his chest where your head is resting.
Every now and then he pauses.
“You fell asleep.”
“I was listening.”
“You snored.”
“I was… listening peacefully.”
“Hm.”
Then he kisses the top of your head…
…and keeps reading anyway.
One evening you catch him whispering to the little succulent on the windowsill.
“…Valko?”
He jumps.
“…Yes?”
“Were you talking to the plant?”
“…No.”
“The plant that you just called ‘little warrior?’”
“…”
“…Maybe.”
You walk over, kiss his cheek, and smile.
“You’re such a nerd.”
His ears immediately turn pink.
“…I’m not.”
“You collect tiny trebuchets.”
“They’re historically accurate.”
“You own color-coded bookmarks.”
“They’re organized.”
“You made a spreadsheet ranking every book you’ve read this year.”
“…”
“I rest my case.”
He lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard, rubbing the back of his neck.
“…You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I heard that.”
“I know.”
You grin mischievously.
“My giant, intimidating, adorable nerd.”
His face goes even redder.
“…Stop.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“…What?”
“Are you blushing?”
“…No.”
“You are!”
“I’m warm.”
“You’ve fought monsters without flinching, but I call you cute and suddenly you’re overheating?”
He covers his face with one large hand.
“…Please.”
You can’t help it—you laugh, reaching up to gently pull his hand away before standing on your tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose.
“There he is.”
“…Who?”
“My boyfriend.”
He blinks.
“The scary guy everyone avoids?”
“No.”
“The guy who spends an hour in bookstores.”
“…”
“The one who gets excited over random bird facts.”
“…”
“The one who secretly names his plants.”
“…”
“The one who blushes when I call him cute.”
He groans quietly.
“…You’re never letting this go.”
“Never.”
A long silence settles between you.
Then, with the smallest, most bashful smile, Valko wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest.
“…Good.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to.”
You look up at him.
He’s still pink.
Still pretending to be embarrassed.
But he’s smiling—the soft, genuine smile that only ever seems to belong to you.
You bury your face against his sweater.
“I love my giant history nerd.”
His arms squeeze around you just a little tighter.
“…I love you too.”
And somewhere on the windowsill…
…the little succulent named Sir Sprout silently witnessed the entire thing.
