Page 53 of Unclench Me Softly

Chapter Ten:

The Sacred Act of Losing Your Shit in the Forest

There is something deeply surreal about watching five grown men crawl around the forest, gathering moss and bark and twigs like emotionally repressed squirrels on a healing pilgrimage.

“This part,” I say softly, gesturing with a handcrafted stick I am now referring to as the Staff of Embodied Return, “Is about intentional construction.”

They look up from their scattered piles of nature like wide-eyed forest orphans mid-enlightenment.

“As you build your nest,” I continue, trying very hard to keep my voice calm and my thighs un-clenched, “You are symbolically creating a space for your inner cub to rest. To be seen. To be held.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You mean like… a fort.”

“No,” I say. “A sacred enclosure of safety and rebirth.”

He shrugs. “Sounds like a fort.”

I press my lips together and resist the urge to stab him gently with the staff.

But then he turns around and starts building. And not just throwing sticks into a pile like I expected, no, he’s shaping it. Placing bark with intention. Using leaves like lining. His brow furrowed, jaw tight, like he’s concentrating really hard on pretending this isn’t working when it’s totally working.

Asher is humming while he builds. He’s layered ferns into a gentle cradle shape and is currently whispering affirmations to a pinecone. I have no notes. He’s thriving.

Miles is building with the precision of someone who once interned with a Scandinavian design firm. His nest has corners. And structural integrity.

Seb’s is just a pile. But it’s a stoic pile. A manly, emotionally heavy pile. It says, “I’ve been through some things. But this moss gets me.”

And Jonah…

I blink.

Jonah is building two nests. Side by side. Mirrored. Symmetrical. Not touching, but close. Close enough to share warmth.

My breath catches in my throat, and I immediately pretend to be very interested in a nearby stump.

Do not project.

Do not assign meaning to forest intimacy.

Do not write an entire enemies-to-lovers arc in your head about a man who builds you an unspoken nest of symbolic belonging.

He doesn’t even look at me. But he places a smooth river stone between them, right in the center. Balanced. Intentional.

My entire body lights up like a sage bundle doused in gasoline.

I move to the edge of the clearing, Staff of Embodied Return held like a crutch, and try to breathe.

“Take your time,” I say. “Let your nest reveal itself. This is not about perfection. It’s about presence.”

Jax glances up at me then. “Bliss,” he says, voice too casual. “Just checking, are we supposed to, like, lay in them when we’re done?”

“Yes,” I say before thinking.

He grins. “Cool.” And proceeds to lie down in his nest. His shirt rides up. Leaves cling to his abs like they’re blessed.

I might combust.

Then one by one, they follow.

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