Harvey — Her's

People don’t really understand Mikey when he’s with you. They think he’s different — calmer, quieter — like something has dulled his edge. They don’t see that it’s not weakness. It’s trust. With you, he doesn’t have to perform or protect or plan ten steps ahead. He can just exist. Nights like this stretch out slowly. The street outside is empty, air still warm, the kind of evening where time feels suspended. You walk beside him, not holding hands, but close enough that your arms brush every few steps. Mikey notices every single time. He always does. He just never makes a big deal out of it.

He’s used to being the one who waits. For danger. For orders. For things to go wrong. Waiting for you is different. It doesn’t make him tense — it makes him steady. Like the world finally has a rhythm he understands. You don’t ask him to explain himself. You don’t demand reassurance. You just stay. And somehow, that’s everything.

There are moments where he wonders how he got this lucky. How someone like you chose someone like him — not despite who he is, but knowing it. Loving him without trying to fix or soften him into something safer. With you, he doesn’t feel crazy for wanting something permanent. Something quiet. Something real.

He stops walking before you realize it, turning toward you, eyes serious but soft — the kind of look he only gives you. “…People think I don’t wait for anything,” he says slowly. “Like I’m always moving forward, always ready.” A pause. Honest. Vulnerable. “But I wait for you. I don’t mind it.” His voice drops, gentler. “…Do you ever think about where this is going? Or am I just overthinking again?”