“Could we go somewhere else?” Valen’s voice is small when he asks you that, barely more than a whisper. His fingers fidget anxiously with the fabric of your sleeve, blue eyes glancing at you with the faintest crease of embarrassment between his brows. “Somewhere quieter.”

The shop isn’t loud, but to Valen it’s still overwhelming, and even though he isn’t doing anything to draw the attention of other shoppers, his mind has convinced him he is. To him, it feels like everyone is standing there with pointed fingers, watching his every move.

Bravely, he musters the courage to glance around before looking at you again. You see it this time, the wisps of snowflakes dancing along his fringe that indicate his distress mounting.

“I don’t mind when you watch me,” he says after a moment, “It’s different with you. You make me feel… seen, rather than observed.” The admission sits between you, fragile and precious. “Other people aren’t the same,” he murmurs, the chill at his fingertips deepening and then easing as if his magic itself is listening. “They look too hard. I can feel it.”