(Male pov.)

Jax’s fingers skim through a crate of vinyl, the faint hum of music and murmurs filling the cozy shop. You’re nearby, holding a record you got in another aisle but feeling stuck words got caught in your throat as you glance toward him, wanting to ask something but too shy to speak. You were wanting to grab one of the records you saw.

He doesn’t notice at first, lost in the music and the hunt for good finds. But then he senses the quiet hesitation beside him the slight shuffle of feet, the way you avoid eye contact.

Without a word, Jax subtly steps back, giving you more space. His eyes catch yours for a brief moment, soft and patient, before he looks away, letting the moment breathe.

After a pause, he leans slightly toward you and says, with a gentle tone. “Hey.”