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The house was quiet in that special way only midnight could bring— not empty, not lonely, but full. Full of memories, of warmth, of breath shared between two people who had chosen each other, every day, over and over again. The soft glow from the bedside lamp painted the room in amber, casting gentle shadows across the familiar shapes of their life together: the framed photos on the wall, the folded blankets at the foot of the bed, the scattered books Blew never quite finished before falling asleep in Wayo’s arms.
Wayo stood by the window, phone in hand, earphones tucked in, letting the song flow through her veins. Each lyric landed like a confession she had been carrying in her chest for a long long time.
I’ve never been so high.
From sittin' here just lookin' back at you.
The words resonated deep, because it was true— she had known ambition, success, exhaustion, fear— but nothing had ever lifted her the way Blew did. Just standing there, glancing over her shoulder to see her wife curled under the duvet, hair a soft mess across the pillow, lips slightly parted in sleep, made her chest tighten with a devotion so overwhelming it almost hurt.
She remembered the days before this— the longing, the distance, the quiet prayers whispered into empty rooms. Back then, loving Blew had felt like balancing on the edge of something fragile and precious. Now, that love was a foundation. Solid. Steady. Still breathtaking.
Wayo slipped the earphones out and set her phone aside, approaching the bed like she always did as if she were stepping into sacred space. Even after marriage, after shared mornings and mundane routines and countless nights spent tangled together, she never lost that reverence. Blew was still her miracle. Still the woman who made her heart forget its own rhythm.
She sat carefully beside her, brushing a thumb across Blew’s cheek, feather-light. Blew stirred, lashes fluttering before sleepy eyes opened, instantly softening when they found Wayo.
“Can’t sleep?” Blew murmured, voice thick with dreams.
Wayo smiled, that quiet, helpless smile she only ever showed her. “Just wanted to look at you.”
Blew huffed a tiny laugh, “Such a flirt.” and yet she shifted closer, instinctively seeking warmth. Wayo slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her in until their bodies aligned perfectly, like they’d been designed that way.
There were nights Wayo still wondered how her life had led her here. From ambition, danger, loneliness, to this— a quiet bedroom, a warm body in her arms, and a love so deep it frightened her more than any threat ever could. Losing her was never an option.
I'm swimmin' in your eyes.
I'd let you drown me if you want to.
The present suddenly blurred as memory surged.
Gunshots tearing through the air, bodies moving, chaos exploding around them. She saw the muzzle flash. She saw the trajectory. And she saw Blew.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up.
Pain ripped through her shoulder as the bullet struck, violent and merciless. The force spun her sideways, balance shattering. Then the lake swallowed her.
Cold.
Shock.
Darkness.
The surface closed above her head, sound fading into distant echoes. Her lungs burned. Her limbs felt like stone. Blood bloomed warm against icy water.
She fought— but strength drained faster than will.
Her vision dimmed, thoughts scattering into fragments: Blew’s laughter. Blew’s stubborn frown. The way she whispered Wayo’s name when she thought she was asleep.
At least she’ll live.
Then—
Arms wrapped around her.
Strong. Desperate. Shaking.
Blew dragged her upward, breaking the surface with a gasp, hauling her toward the boat with pure, panicked strength. Wayo barely registered the ground beneath her before Blew was over her, trembling hands pressing against her chest, lips against hers, breath forced into lungs that refused to cooperate.
“Breathe— Wayo, please—”
Her chest convulsed. Water poured out. Pain ripped through her as air finally surged back in, harsh and violent.
The moment she gasped, Blew collapsed over her, sobbing, clinging, forehead pressed to hers like she was afraid Wayo might vanish again.
“Blew…”
Blew still sobbing desperately clung to Wayo, “If something happened to you, I would blame myself forever.”
“Please, don't cry for me...” Wayo's lungs felt like can't breathe again.
“I won't let you die, Wayo,” Blew had whispered brokenly. “I'm so scared, I thought—”
Wayo, barely conscious, lifted a trembling hand to wipe her tears.
“I told you,” she murmured weakly. “I’ll always come back to you.”
Back in the present, Wayo swallowed hard, chest tight.
She looked down at her sleeping wife— alive, warm, safe in her arms— and the reality of what she had almost lost nearly undid her.
Wayo lay down beside her, turning onto her side, facing her. Her fingers hovered for a second before gently tracing Blew’s cheek, her jaw, her lips— a silent promise written in touch.
There were nights the fear still came.
Not fear of dying.
But fear of leaving Blew alone in a world that had already tried to steal too much from her.
“I would do it again,” Wayo whispered into the quiet. “Every time.”
Blew stirred, brow furrowing faintly, hand reaching out to cuddle her hero's waist.
Wayo inhaled shakily and pulled her closer.
You're the only light left in the room.
Wayo wondered again how out of all the paths her life could have taken, it had led her here— to a woman whose mere presence softened her edges, steadied her storms, and quieted her doubts. Blew didn’t fix her. She understood her. And somehow, that was even more powerful.
Wayo pressed a kiss to Blew’s forehead, lingering there as if anchoring herself. Blew shifted again, one hand fisting gently in Wayo’s shirt, a subconscious plea not to leave.
How is it that I get to be the one that gets to...
Take you upstairs? Closer to Heaven.
Marriage hadn’t softened their devotion— it had sanctified it.
Everything felt heavier, more meaningful. Every touch carried intention. Every kiss held gratitude. When Wayo held Blew, it wasn’t just desire— it was reverence, protection, promise.
She thought about all the ways Blew trusted her: with her fears, her dreams, her fragile moments. That trust was sacred. Wayo guarded it like a vow etched into her bones.
Blew lifted her head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “You're thinking out loud again.”
Wayo chuckled quietly. “I'm sorry baby.”
Blew shook her head, cheeks warming. She reached up, cupping Wayo’s jaw, thumb brushing slowly over familiar skin.
“Tell me, my love, what's going on inside of your beautiful mind?”
The softness in her voice and tenderness of the gesture hit Wayo harder than any dramatic confession ever could.
Tell you how beautiful you are...
Lips like a prayer. Undone in your presence.
Wayo leaned in, resting her forehead against Blew’s, breathing her in. The scent of her— clean, warm, unmistakably Blew— was home. In that closeness, Wayo felt stripped of every defense. There was no room for pride, no space for ego. Only love. Only devotion.
“You know,” Wayo murmured, “every day I wake up and I still can’t believe you chose me.”
Blew frowned softly. “Wayo…”
“I mean it,” she continued, voice steady but full. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I was worth choosing.”
Blew’s eyes shimmered. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Wayo’s lips— slow, unhurried, full of promise.
“You are teerak,” Blew whispered softly as a sweet tear escaped from her beautiful eyes. “You already are.”
Worship your body in the dark.
And in that fragile space between their breaths, Wayo felt something inside her surrender again. Not collapse— but soften. Those times of restraint, of control, of constant vigilance slowly melted away, leaving only the raw truth of her heart.
Loving Blew had taught her that worship was not about kneeling or surrendering power. It was constancy. It was patience. It was staying when it would have been easier to leave. It was learning every unspoken need and honoring it without being asked.
To Wayo, worship meant memorizing the smallest details— the way Blew’s breathing changed when anxiety crept in, the faint crease between her brows when she was thinking too hard, the way her fingers always searched for Wayo’s sleeve in her sleep. It meant learning her silences, protecting her vulnerabilities, and standing steady when Blew felt like the world was too heavy.
It was devotion in its purest form— quiet, constant, unwavering.
In the dark, where nothing existed but shared warmth and gentle breaths, Wayo held Blew as if she were holding something sacred. Because she was. And every soft touch, every lingering kiss, every slow embrace was a vow renewed in silence: I am here. I will always be here.
Loving Blew was her truest form of worship.
You’re so soft. Nothin’ ’bout you ever hurts me.
Blew nestled against her chest, fitting there as though she had always belonged in that exact space. Their heartbeats slowly synchronized, rising and falling together, until it became impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
In that stillness, Wayo felt a peace so profound it almost frightened her— a fragile, sacred calm she never dared to take for granted.
For someone who had lived her life surrounded by danger, responsibility, and relentless expectations, this softness felt like a miracle.
Blew was her quiet.
Her rest.
Her home.
In Blew’s arms, Wayo no longer needed to be unbreakable. She didn’t need to be strong. She didn’t need to lead or endure. She could simply be— vulnerable, unguarded, human. And that, more than anything, healed her.
Loving Blew had made life easier. It had made it meaningful. Every scar had purpose. Every sacrifice had reason. Every battle had been worth surviving— because it had led her here, into this moment, into this gentle breathing, into this shared silence where nothing hurt and everything mattered.
I’m a lover at your mercy.
And she always would be.
Not because Blew demanded it.
But because Wayo gave it— freely, fiercely, without hesitation.
She gave her loyalty.
Her strength.
Her vulnerability.
Her life...
She gave her past, her present, and everything she dared to hope for in the future. She gave every broken piece and every healed part into Blew’s hands, trusting her to hold them gently.
To love Blew was not surrender.
It was choice.
A choice Wayo would make in every lifetime.
Again.
And again.
And again.