his eyes are tired and the brightness in his smiles begin to fade. he’s okay, he insists– he really is.
he just needs a break. he needs room to breathe– and somehow, just somehow,
he finds everything he needs from you.

it’s your mere presence that brings oxygen into his lungs again and he feels okay–
he feels better and there’s a reassurance that tells him that everything will be fine.

your fingers ghost over his skin, curious and wanting yet too gentle to initiate any more than that.
concern adorns your features when a worried gaze meets his worn one, but nonetheless, that sheepish smile falls upon his lips.
a brief kiss is placed on your nose before his forehead presses against yours, fingers intertwining.

“are you really okay?” your voice is airy and softspoken; the words come out with caution.

another smile– a squeeze of the hand. lips against lips– air into lungs.

“i am.”

he can breathe again.