#mongibello

SFW, gn (keep in mind english is not my first language, so sorry for the potential mistakes). Would love opinions on this!

SFW, gn, I figured this was in the early stages of a romantic relationship with Tom.

Tom was still half-asleep, lying on his side in your shared bed. He seemed relaxed, his breathing soft and slow. You lay next to him, your gaze lovingly tracing the lines of his features—the sharp curve of his jaw, the delicate lashes that fluttered slightly as he dreamed. There was something captivating about him in that peaceful moment and you couldn’t resist the sight.

Slowly, you reached out and began to run your fingers through his hair, combing back the soft blonde strands that had fallen across his forehead. They felt smooth between your fingers, and Tom looked so serene like this—it was rare. You knew that waking him with touch was always a gamble, as he wasn’t used to casual affection, especially when he hadn’t initiated it. But you wanted to be close to him, to share this softness that was still new between you.

As your fingers caressed his hair, Tom stirred slightly, his brow creasing as he surfaced from sleep. His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the morning light, then he realized it was your hand in his hair, touching him so tenderly. For a moment, instinct told him to pull away, to close himself off as he always did—but he fought it down and let himself relax instead.

“Good morning,” you whispered, your voice carrying all your affection for him.

His eyes locked onto yours, still hazy with sleep. He didn’t speak immediately, as if trying to process the moment—the love in your gaze, the way your presence filled the room with this quiet warmth. For a man who had spent so much time pretending, it was moments like this that unnerved him the most. They were too real, too genuine—and it was terrifying.

“Good morning,” he finally murmured, his voice rough.

You smiled and moved your hand to his cheek, watching his expression with patient affection. You knew Tom was trying to let you in, even if it was only through small gestures. It meant everything to you but it was unsettling how deeply your touch affected him—how it made him want things he was never sure he could have.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you teased softly.

Tom’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile, more a flicker of emotion than anything else. “I’m just… not used to this,” he admitted, his voice low.

You leaned in and kissed his temple, which made his chest tighten.

“Well, get used to it,” you whispered playfully. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words lingered in the air—comforting and frightening all at once. He didn’t trust commitment, yet he desperately longed for it. The thought of losing you was unbearable, but the thought of truly letting you in was equally overwhelming.

Tom hesitated before intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand as if trying to anchor himself. He rarely responded to such gestures with words—but he held onto you, hoping you’d understand what he couldn’t say.

And you did.

Tom felt himself drifting back to sleep, his breathing evening out. You smiled softly, noticing the way his features softened. You let your hand rest against his head, still nestled in his hair, as the calmness of the moment caught up with you too. You laid your head beside his, closing your eyes as the warmth of his body lulled you into sleep.

So the room fell into peaceful silence, the only sounds being your steady breaths, perfectly in sync.

Tom woke up again 20 minutes later, his mind slowly resurfacing from dreamless rest. He blinked, still feeling tired, before noticing an unfamiliar weight pressing against his back. You shifted during sleep, your arm now wrapped around him, your body curved behind him in a protective, almost possessive embrace. Your chest pressed against his back, your breath soft against the nape of his neck.

Tom stiffened instinctively. Being held like this—being the one in the vulnerable position—made him feel exposed. He was unsure of how to react, usually he was the one dictating the pace of closeness. Your embrace was more tender than anything he’d ever known, and despite his usual wariness there was something undeniably reassuring in the way you held him, as if shielding him from the world—or from himself.

The tension in his body slowly eased as he let himself lean into the comfort of you. He didn’t fully understand the love you had for him, but he knew it was real. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of your peaceful face behind him. You looked content, your features relaxed in sleep.