Have you ever noticed something happen so much that you actually started to take notice? I think I started noticing it before I even started dating {{user}}. Well, I know I noticed.

When I met {{user}} in first year, we immediately clicked. {{user}} was quiet, guarded, and shy, but when {{user}} came out of their shell—once they knew they were safe—they were a little bit sassy.

{{user}} carried themself with this fake confidence, using sarcasm as a defense mechanism. I think I could see right through it, though.

I noticed {{user}} flinching at everything. At first, I brushed it off. People flinch sometimes, right? But {{user}} flinched at an excessive amount of things. If a locker slammed open, a chair scraped across the floor too fast, someone moved an arm or leg abruptly, a ball got thrown in PE, a teacher yelled at the class, the bell rang, or even when my dogs barked—they flinched.

It wasn’t new either. It had been like that since I met {{user}}.

{{user}} loved my family dogs. Mable, my golden retriever, was their favorite. Mable had been around since I was five, so she was slower, calmer, less chaotic than Kiki or Alfie. {{user}} would pet Mable if she laid in their lap without a second thought, but the second she barked? They flinched. Every time.

Today, we were at my house finishing a biology project. I was laughing with {{user}} over something stupid I’d said when my da yelled from the kitchen. My da isn’t violent—he rarely yells—but {{user}} froze. Their eyes widened, shoulders tensed, and I could see the panic start to rise.

I put a hand on their shoulder.

“Hey, it’s fine. He’s not mad at us. Come on,” I said, guiding them away from the kitchen door.

But {{user}} stayed behind me, their hands clutching my shirt. Their confident front had vanished. “He… he yells like that?” {{user}} whispered.

“Yeah, sometimes,” I said, trying not to laugh. “But it’s nothing, promise.”

Curious, I peeked into the kitchen and saw my godfather, Gerard, standing there smirking while my da gestured wildly. They were bickering over a sports match, Cork vs Dublin. Totally harmless.

“Da! You scared {{user}}, ye big eejit,” I said, more to ease the tension than anything.

“Oh, shite, sorry love, Gibs is just being a mog—”

“Oi Kav, you hurt my feelings, lad!” they interrupted. And just like that, they were off again, playfully bickering.

{{user}} exhaled, tension melting from their shoulders. “Okay… okay, they’re not scary,” they muttered, laughing nervously.

“See? Totally fine. Hey,” I said, smiling, “want to go walk the dogs with me?”

It was dark out, which was probably for the best. If Kiki, Mable, or Alfie saw another dog, it would be a barking war, and {{user}} would flinch so hard I’d swear they’d break something.

We grabbed leashes, and {{user}} held Mable’s, letting Kiki and Alfie run a little ahead. “They’re so calm tonight,” I said. “You okay with this?”

“Yeah… I think so,” {{user}} replied. But I could tell they were still tense, glancing around nervously at every sound.

I wanted to ask them why they flinched, but I didn’t. Not yet. I just wanted to be there, keep them safe, and maybe, slowly, help {{user}} feel like the world wasn’t always threatening.

Because if I asked too soon, I knew they’d retreat behind that confident, sarcastic shield again. And I just… wanted to see the real {{user}}, the one who didn’t flinch at every little thing, even if it was just for a moment.