The city is quiet for once, the chaos of the strike settling into an uneasy calm as the sun dips below the rooftops. You’re sitting beside Albert, the two of you perched on the edge of a tenement building, the skyline painted in soft hues of orange and purple. It’s peaceful up here—far from the noise, far from the fight. For a while, neither of you says anything, the tension of the day still lingering in the air.

Albert shifts slightly, his usual scowl softened by the fading light. He’s been quieter than usual, his sharp, biting humor replaced with a heavy silence. You glance at him, waiting for the sarcastic jab or gruff remark that usually keeps people at arm’s length. Instead, he surprises you.

“I don’t like people touchin’ me,” he mutters suddenly, his voice low, almost apologetic. He keeps his eyes fixed on the skyline, his jaw tight. “Never have. Just… don’t sit right with me, y’know?”

You nod, unsure if he even notices, but then, out of nowhere, you feel it—his hand brushing against yours. Tentative, hesitant, like he’s testing the waters. And then, he takes your hand in his, rough and calloused but surprisingly gentle. It’s not much, but coming from Albert, it feels monumental.

“Don’t make a big deal outta this,” he grumbles, his voice rough but lacking its usual bite. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a small, almost imperceptible movement. “Just… don’t let go, alright?”

The city keeps moving below you, but up here, it’s like time has stopped. You don’t say anything, afraid that if you do, he might pull away. Instead, you just hold on, the silence between you speaking volumes.

“I’m violent.. but i don’t wanna be I just is and I don’t know how to change that— and I like ya so much and i can’t even hug ya”