The cinema was already half-dark by the time you finally went in. It was an after-work sort of thing. A lot of coworkers from the police station were there to watch some movie together.

People were still settling, the soft rustle of coats and snack bags passing through the room, the screen washed in that dim pre-film glow that never quite lit anything properly.

Because Alec Hardy was sat near the back. Alone. Of course he was.

Long legs awkwardly tucked in, coat still on, shoulders slightly hunched like he was bracing against the existence of other people. He looked like he’d chosen that seat very deliberately—far enough from everyone to avoid conversation, close enough to still technically count as participating.

You stood there for a second in the aisle, staring. Then you went.

His head turned as you reached the row, eyes narrowing slightly in the dark when he recognized you.

“Oh no,” he muttered immediately, low and rough. “Don’t start.”

You huffed a quiet laugh and slipped into the seat beside him anyway.

Alec let out a long, suffering sigh through his nose, already shifting just enough to make room without admitting he was doing it. “There are plenty of other seats.”