🧚🏽‍♀️

It was just an ordinary summer evening in Paris, but the streets were up. A local DJ had made up a makeshift sound system on the corner of an alley, and half the paris had spilled onto the pavement dancing under string lights, drinking cheap alcohol from straight from bottles, and blocking traffic in true Parisian fashion. You met Hugo in the middle of the crowd, both of you in your early twenties, loud, young, and entirely too unfiltered in the warm summer air.

It was supposed to be a fleeting you weren't into cliche things, a shared laugh over a spilled drink, a quick exchange of numbers while heavy bass echoed off the apartment walls, the kind of night that you usually forget by morning. Your friends laughed it off the next day in uni, warning you not to get stuck to a boy whose ambition was as sweet as his smile. 

You genuinely didnt think it would go anywhere..no one did, but Hugo Ekitike was notorious for being stubborn. Once he set his eyes on you under those yellow streetlights, he was determined. His friends already knew it, and soon, you did too, Hugo was not a quitter. He pulled you into his world with an effortless charm, proving everybody wrong day by day, month by month.

A year later, the quiet of the morning felt like a completely different life from that chaotic night on the street.

You were knotted in the sheets of your bed, the soft light of the morning sun spilling through the blinds. It was a lazy Sunday, and your feet were tangled together…literally. Your toes were intertwined with his under the duvet, a goofy, intimate habit that had somehow become your favorite thing in the world. Despite how revolting it probably would've sounded to your past self.

🎶They say your body knows when it's really something. When we're touching toes, that's the warmth of loving. 🎶

Hugo shifted, pulling you tighter against his chest, his hot morning breath against the nape of your neck. He flowed through your thoughts constantly these days, like a river in your mind, calm and steady. Like he belonged there.

You looked over at the bedroom door, slightly open, giving you a view of the hallway. Slowly, bit by bit, he moved into your life. One drawer in your dresser became his. Then two. Unbeknownst to you he liked fashion. So half your your closet became his too.. You didnt mind when you needed to borrow something last minute though. To be honest, you actually liked seeing his oversized shoes thrown by the front door every time you stepped into the apartment.

You had always been passionately independent, the type to handle everything on your own, “I don't need a man anyways”, but lately, having him around, having his help, having him... you couldn't help thinking, what the hell, this is actually not that bad.

...

"Mm you're thinking too loud," Hugo murmured, his voice hazy with sleep. He squeezed your foot gently with his under the covers.

"Just thinking bout how ridiculous we look," you whispered back, a smile tugging at your lips. "locking toes like this." a small giggle leaves you.

Hugo chuckled softly, a low rumble against your back. "It's not ridiculous. It keeps us connected." He pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder as he argues his point. "And no one can say we didn't make it." too clingy but you don't mind.

He was right though. Nobody thought you’d fall this fast, or this deep.

The hardest part wasn't the falling though it was the distance..

You had never planned on leaving Paris. It was your home, your base. But Hugo’s career took off, taking him across borders. Suddenly, you were getting used to the dull ache in your chest every time he packed his bags for club football. Seeing him walk out that door was a slow pain you never quite got used to.

So, you adapted. You found yourself traveling across Europe just to hold his hand for a few days catching flights to Germany, later on booking trains to England, learning the rhythm of stadium tunnels and quiet hotel rooms. And Hugo, true to his stubbornness, never let the distance win. No matter how brutal his schedule was, he always made time to fly back to France, just to spend the next twenty-four hours in your arms.

And then, somewhere between a crowded airport lounge and a quiet kitchen, it hit you.

You felt loved, in a real gross type of way, and you didn't notice until now

It wasn't a grand, film worthy realization. It was just the revelation that whenever he wasn't near, you felt a little colder. You subconsciously looked for his hand, reached for his touch, longed for the simple reassurance of his fingers brushing against yours. You didn't know when it had happened, or even how, but suddenly, you did.

Back in bed after a long day, Hugo pulled you around so you were facing him. His dark eyes softened as he looked at you, reading the quiet affection written all over your face.

"Where did you go just now?" he asked softly, tracing the line of your nose with his thumb.

"Just remembered that street party," you admitted softly, resting your palm against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Everyone said we were crazy."

Hugo smirked, that same playful, cocky look returning to his eyes, though they softened by years of loving you. He kissed his teeth, "I told you back then, didn't I? I won't lose. I never do" smug as ever.

He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his legs wrapping around yours under the blanket, entangling your feet once agaim.

"And i’m keeping you," Hugo whispered against your skin, "this's the best win I'll ever have."

and You didn’t quite mind being his..

okay chat, thats my first ever fic..idk if this came off foot fetish-y but its inspired by the name of the song I swear im not weird...or at least not that weird..everyone stream olivia dean she’s lovelyyy