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Like I needed to know the shape of his love from the inside out.

He filled me slow, deep, eyes locked on mine like I was home and heaven and everything in between.

“Tell me,” I whispered, grinding harder. “Tell me who I belong to.”

“You’re mine,” he said, voice guttural, face flushed.

“Say it again.”

“You’re mine. All of you.”

I came like those words split me open. Shaking. Shouting. Falling.

And before the tremor faded, he flipped me and drove himself in deeper, harder, hands in my hair, mouth on my neck.

We made love like we were learning each other all over again. Like we didn’t know how long we had, but we were going to make it count.

When it ended, we stayed tangled. Breathing. Glowing. Full.

And for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t worried about tomorrow.

I knew we’d figure it out. Because I loved him. And he showed up. And that was the start of everything.

Hours Later – Florence, Italy

The stadium was alive.

Thousands of bodies moving as one. Lights flickering like stars in the rafters. My name chanted like a promise.

I stood backstage, mic in hand, earpiece buzzing, heart drumming against my ribs.

Tonight was different.

Not because the crowd was louder, or the city more beautiful, but because I was no longer singing from a hollow place.

I was full. Of him. Of us. I stepped into the light. The roar nearly knocked me off my feet.

I waited until it softened, until the band stilled.

Then I spoke.

“Y’all still with me tonight?” I smiled, voice teasing.

More screams.

I nodded, eyes scanning the crowd.

“I wrote a song a few weeks ago,” I said. “At a moment when I couldn’t quite say what I was feeling... so I sang it instead.”

The crowd quieted.

“I didn’t have a name for it back then. But I do now.”

A hush fell like a curtain.

“I call itAll of You.”

Gasps. Then silence again.