"I still don't understand why you have so many shoes."

You shoot AJ a look over your shoulder as you continue to clear out your closet. 

"I mean, these two look exactly the same," he holds up two left heels with raised eyebrows.

"No they don't," you scoff as you place a basket of t-shirts on the floor next to the foot of your bed and take a seat.

"They're both black and they both have heels that are too tall to be legal."

You roll your yes as you sort through the shirts, determining which ones to keep and which ones to give away. 

AJ throws the shoes to the side before flopping onto your bed.

"Hey! Be careful with those!"

Incoherent mumbles leave AJ's mouth as he rolls onto his side and hugs one of your pillows to his chest.

You continue sifting through the basket, rediscovering a few tops that you totally forgot you had. 

"You still didn't answer my question," AJ says as you start to fold up the shirts in the 'To Keep' pile.

"You asked me a question?" you tilt your head to the side, glancing up at him momentarily. 

"Yeah," he nods, "Why do you have so many shoes?"

"I like shoes," you reply.

"Well, I like shoes too but I don't have five thousand pairs."

You roll your eyes at the exaggeration and begin to place a stack of shirts neatly back into the basket. 

"Besides, why are all of them heels?"

"Because I happen to enjoy wearing heels," you look up at pointedly, "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, no, I don't have a problem with that," AJ holds his hands up in surrender and shakes his head, "It's just that I'd thought you'd want to take a break from them since I always see you wearing them during your fashion shows."

AJ frowns a little when you don't respond and instead, busy yourself with folding another stack of clothes.

"Hey," he uses a hanger to tap you on the shoulder, "Why do you really own so many heels?"

"I told you, I just like wearing heels, okay?" you mumble.

"Stop lying and tell me the real reason."

You bite your lip and stare down at the old t-shirt in your hands.

"Did you know that the average female models is five feet, eight inches?" you ask as you play with the cotton material between your fingers. 

"I did not know that," AJ answers.

"I'm nowhere near that height."

You toss the shirt to the side in frustration.

"That's not true," AJ denies, "You're not that much shorter than 5'8"."

"But when you stand next to those girls," you sigh, "a few inches really make a difference."

You lay down on the carpet of your bedroom floor and stare up at the ceiling. 

"I hear the way they talk about me."

"The critics from magazines?" AJ asks.

You shake your head, "The other models."

You let out another sigh and fold your hands behind your head.

"I hear their sneers and their shallow comments under their breaths. 'Why does she get to model the floor length gown? The dress is just going to drag all over the runway.' 'She's going to model those pants? Her legs aren't even long enough to fit them properly.'"

It took every ounce of reserve AJ had in his body to keep silent. He understood that the fashion industry was a dog-eat-dog world and you could hold your own. But, like any boyfriend, he still has the reflex to get angry when his girlfriend is being mistreated. 

"So to answer your question," you glance up at AJ, "I have a lot of heels because when I wear them, I feel like I'm on the same level as the other girls and they can't talk down to me." 

"But you're not on the same level as them," AJ mumbles, "You're above them, like a thousand levels able them. You're so nice to everyone, sometimes too nice for your own good." 

You send an appreciative smile up to AJ. He always knew just the right words to make you feel better. 

AJ suddenly gets up from your bed and stands in front of you, holding out a hand.

"Stand up," he orders.

You narrow your eyes as you place your hand in his, allowing him to pull you to your feet. A small pout appears on your face when you notice that the top of your head barely reaches the height of your boyfriend's shoulders.

He places his hands on your shoulders and hold you arms length away from him.

"I think your height is perfect," he says.

You open your mouth to argue back but he cuts you off by pulling you into a hug.

"See, you're perfect height to fit in my arms," he says as he rests his chin on the top of your head. 

You look up at him when he pulls away slightly and jump in shock when he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

"And the perfect height for me to do that," he chuckles.

He places two fingers under your chin and tips your head up.

"And the perfect height for me to do this," he smiles before leaning down and capturing your lips with his.