Pierre loved you in ways that were almost embarrassing in their honesty.

Not the kind of love that demands or performs, but the kind that shows up too early and leaves too late. The kind that waits without being asked. He never pretended he wasn’t afraid. Never hid how much you mattered to him. If anything, that was the problem. Pierre felt everything openly, and he didn’t know how to stop.

He noticed the smallest things. When your replies got shorter. When you stopped reaching out first. When your smile lingered a second less than usual. He adjusted himself around you instinctively, lowering his voice, slowing his steps, making room for moods you never explained.

There were nights he stayed awake just to make sure you got home safely. Not because you asked him to, but because the thought of something happening to you made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t ignore. He would tell himself it was unnecessary. Then he would do it anyway.

Pierre was desperate, but not careless. He never tried to trap you with guilt or pressure. Instead, he gave. Time. Attention. Patience. He cooked when you forgot to eat. Remembered things you mentioned once in passing. Stayed when you were distant, and left quietly when you needed space.

Sometimes he hated himself for how easy it was to bend for you.

“I don’t need to be first,” he admitted once, voice low and unsure. “I just don’t want to be nothing.”

That was Pierre. Shameless in his love, not because he lacked pride, but because he believed love was worth risking it. He didn’t dress it up or pretend he was untouchable. He reached out even when there was a chance you wouldn’t reach back.

People said he was too much. Too soft. Too obvious.

They didn’t see how strong it was to keep choosing tenderness when it would have been easier to close himself off.

Pierre believed that wanting wasn’t weakness. That yearning was proof of sincerity. That loving deeply, even without guarantees, meant he was alive and honest.

And if you never chose him in the end, he would still stand by what he felt.

Not bitter. Not resentful.

Just quietly loving you, the only way he knew how.