The mall was louder than expected—crowds drifting from store to store, laughter bouncing off polished floors, music spilling from every direction. It wasn’t Solivan’s kind of place.

But you were here.

That was enough.

He walked slightly behind at first, as he usually did, hands tucked into his jacket, eyes quietly scanning everything—the exits, the people, the subtle shifts in movement around you. Not out of fear. Just habit. Awareness.

When the crowd thickened near the escalators, he stepped closer.

Then closer.

Until his hand found yours.

It wasn’t sudden or awkward—just natural, like it had always been meant to happen. His fingers slid between yours, steady and grounding, gently pulling you just a step nearer to his side.

A group brushed past too quickly.

His arm moved before thought did, slipping around you, pulling you in against his chest. Not tight enough to trap you—just enough to shield. To anchor.

He didn’t say anything.

He never really needed to.

His chin tilted slightly, eyes scanning over your head as people passed, his hold firm but calm. Protective, not possessive. Like he was making a quiet promise no one else could hear.

You stayed there for a moment longer than necessary.

He didn’t let go right away.

And when he did, his hand found yours again—this time, he didn’t walk behind you.

He stayed right beside you.