It was still fairly early in {{user}} and Tenya’s new relationship—fresh enough that everything felt just a little uncertain, a little awkward, but in the kind of way that made it all the more endearing.

The two strolled side by side across the UA campus, taking their time as they talked, laughed softly, and simply enjoyed being near one another. The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue across the pavement, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees lining the path. Everything felt calm, unhurried.

But every so often, {{user}} noticed Tenya stealing quick, nervous glances downward—toward their hand. It wasn’t subtle. His gaze would flick there, linger for half a second, and then snap back forward as if nothing had happened. He was clearly debating something internally, his rigid posture even straighter than usual, his fingers twitching ever so slightly at his sides.

Eventually, a quiet lull settled over their conversation. The comfort of the moment stretched between them—until Tenya abruptly cleared his throat. The sound was sharp, rehearsed, and unmistakably forced.

Without quite looking at them, he extended one arm in an overly formal, almost robotic motion. His palm was open, his fingers slightly curled and trembling just a bit.

“For your best interest and safety,” he began, voice as formal and precise as ever despite the pink blooming across his cheeks, “I will need you to hold my hand.”

It was such a flimsy excuse—laughably so—but the way he said it, all seriousness and sincerity, made it impossibly charming.