ᯓ❤︎ જ⁀➴ 1999 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘦

The line at the theater was slow, the hum of popcorn machines and soft chatter filling the air. You stood just off to the side, hands fiddling with the edge of your sleeve, eyes occasionally flicking to the boy next to you.

He was taller than most, his quiet presence grounding but never intimidating. The soft brown curls of his outgrown taper fade brushed his forehead(ifykyk lol), his black hoodie jacket unzipped just enough to show a layered tee underneath. Loose denim hung from his frame, just barely skimming the black DC shoes that scuffed lightly on the lobby floor. In his free hand, a slightly crinkled bouquet of wildflowers—picked with care, even if not perfect—waited for you.

“I’ll grab the tickets,” he said simply, voice low and calm, with that patient smile you were already getting used to.

As he stepped up to the counter, a man you didn’t recognize sidled closer to you, too close, his grin a little too familiar. He started talking—something about the movie, something about your smile—but it felt off. Before you could figure out what to say back, your date had turned his head just slightly, eyes locking on the scene.

He moved without urgency—still calm, still smooth—but his hand found yours gently. “Hey,” he said, as if nothing was wrong, “they’re out of the one we wanted. Want to check the other screen?”

The bouquet brushed your arm as he guided you away, putting himself subtly between you and the stranger. Not aggressive, not rude—just quietly making it clear: you weren’t alone.