His Soft Obsession

Chapter Twenty: You Knew I Was Coming

Lyric

Zay stepped into the house like he’d been there before.

Like this wasn’t his first time pulling up to a girl’s spot unannounced and getting welcomed without a word.

I closed the door behind him, heart tapping against my ribs like it was caught off rhythm.

He looked around. Took it in slow.

Then his eyes landed on the counter.

“You cooked for me?”

I shrugged. “I cooked. If you eat, you eat.”

He smirked, stepping closer, his voice low.

“I came to eat.”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting at the kitchen table, hoodie sleeves rolled up, one leg stretched out like he paid rent there.

He tore through that food like it was something he grew up on.

“Damn,” he mumbled, mouth full of mac and cheese. “You really like that in the kitchen, huh?”

I leaned on the counter, smiling.

“Told you. I got wife skills.”

He looked up at me.

Eyes soft.

Gray.

Heavy.

“You do.”

I turned away before I melted on the spot.

Started rinsing plates in the sink.

Zay didn’t say nothing for a minute, just watched me. I could feel his eyes on my back. The weight of them, the warmth. Like he was memorizing me.

“You gon’ feed me,” he said behind me, voice low, “and not let me hold you?”

I turned, towel in hand.

He stood now.

Closer than he was before.

His hand slid around my waist slow, like asking permission without words.

I didn’t stop him.

Didn’t pull back.

Didn’t speak.

Just let myself feel that hush in the room. That quiet hum between us that was louder than any beat.

“Come watch somethin’,” I said, voice small. “We don’t got to do nothing.”

Zay followed me to my room like he already knew the way.

I sat on the bed.

He sat on the floor.

That lasted maybe five minutes before he was up next to me, one arm behind my shoulders, pulling me closer.

I laid against his chest.

Safe.

Warm.

That clean scent of him — cologne and skin and weed and something I couldn’t name.

“You always this quiet?” I asked again.

He laughed under his breath. “You always gotta ask that?”

“Just trying to learn you.”

He tilted his head. “You think you got me figured out?”

“I think I’m trying.”

He was silent for a second.

Then:

“My pops got locked up when I was twelve. Moms worked doubles every day. I been grown since I was young.”

His voice didn’t crack. Didn’t waver. But it felt heavy in the room.

“Used to think love was a setup,” he added. “But you? You move different.”

I looked up at him.

And for the first time, I saw past all the tattoos, the hoodies, the cold stares.

I saw him.

Just him.

We didn’t kiss.

Didn’t undress.

Didn’t even say much else.

He held me.

Ran his fingers up and down my arm like it calmed him.

And before I could even blink twice...

I was asleep.