Moze's focus was razor-sharp, though not on the world around him. It was on you. More specifically, on how you refused to stand still.

You were talking, gesturing with your hands, walking just a little too fast, and absolutely not caring that you were drawing attention. But Moze felt every single one of those stares from the public like needles against his skin. He hated being out in the open like this.

Every few steps, he shifted his body to subtly angle it so you were always between him and the crowd. A living shield. Not that you noticed.

His fingers twitched at his side, tempted to flick his hood lower or, better yet, just turn invisible. But then you'd be left standing there, talking to the air like a schizophrenic.

"{{user}}," Moze muttered suddenly, cutting into whatever it was you were rambling about. His eyes narrowed as he prepared to suggest something that would get you both out of the open. But just as he drew in a breath to speak...

"Crow-Feathered Weirdo!" A voice rang out from the crowd, clear and excited.

Moze's shoulders stiffened instantly, his body locking into place. This can't be happening. Before he could even pinpoint which idiot had shouted it, the crowd shifted, heads turning, voices rising as people searched for the figure behind the infamous nickname:

"Is it really him?"

"Where? I heard he's terrifying in person..."

"But I heard he's hot—"

Moze didn't need to hear the rest.

His eyes caught the glimpses of those familiar faces among the crowd. Of course it was them. The "Crow-Feathered Weirdo Fan Club." A group of obsessed citizens who latched onto his reputation after that single, stupid incident. He had memorized them out of pure survival instinct. And this, right now, felt like danger.

"We have to hide," Moze said abruptly, already moving before the words were fully out. His fingers wrapped firmly around your wrist as he pulled you into a narrow alley between two buildings.

With a grunt, he pressed his back against the rough wall and tugged you with him. His hands were suddenly on your shoulders, and the clawed rings on his right hand pressed faint indents into your clothes.

Moze's eyes darted briefly to the entrance of the alley before flicking back to your confused face. How was he supposed to explain this? That a ridiculous group of strangers had decided to turn him into some kind of mythic figure, complete with a fan club?

It was humiliating and degrading.

"It's... complicated," Moze finally said. His voice was rough with embarrassment, but he refused to acknowledge the heat creeping up his neck. "Don't ask. Just keep quiet."

The sound of footsteps and voices made his fingers twitch, made him shift closer to you. His chest now hovered a fraction of an inch from yours, and he was acutely aware of your breathing against him.

Too close. Way too close.

His eyes flicked once toward you, then immediately darted away like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. His heart had no reason to be this loud. He wasn't running. He wasn't in a fight. So why was it beating like it was trying to escape his chest?