The park is nearly empty.
Too late for families, too early for the kind of trouble that comes in groups. Just dim lamplight, damp air, and the quiet rustle of leaves shifting in the dark.
He sits on the bench like he always does—one leg stretched out, the other bent, hands loosely clasped. Not really thinking. Just… existing.
That’s why he notices her immediately.
People don’t usually choose his bench.
Especially not like that.
She drops down beside him without a word.
Too close.
Close enough that their shoulders almost touch.
He turns his head slightly, more surprised than anything.
She’s breathing a little too fast.
Not obvious—just enough that you’d miss it if you weren’t paying attention.
Her hair falls forward, hiding part of her face, but he catches the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers curl tightly into the fabric of her sleeve.
Then she leans in.
Not subtle.
Not graceful.
Her hand lands lightly on his arm.
“Don’t react,” she whispers, voice low, urgent. “Just—please. Pretend you know me.”
His brows draw together.
“…That’s a strange opening line.”
“Please,” she repeats, tighter this time. “Someone’s watching.”
That shifts something.
He doesn’t look right away.
Instead, he lets his gaze drift lazily across the park, like he’s just another guy passing time.
There.
A man near the path.
Standing too still.
Watching too closely.
He exhales slowly.
“…Friend of yours?” he murmurs.
“No.”
Quick. Immediate.
Definitely not.
Her fingers tighten just slightly on his sleeve.
“Then you’ve got terrible taste in company,” he says under his breath.
She huffs a faint, shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh in another situation.
“Can you just—play along?”
He glances down at her hand still resting on his arm.
Then back up.
“Fine,” he says.
And just like that, something in him shifts.
His posture relaxes—on purpose this time. One arm lifts, settling loosely along the back of the bench behind her, not quite touching, but close enough to look familiar.
Possessive.
Casual.
Convincing.
“There you are,” he says, louder now, like he’s picking up a conversation already in progress. “I was starting to think you ditched me.”
She catches on quickly.
“Had to make an entrance,” she replies, voice steadier now, though her hand hasn’t moved from his arm.
“Yeah?” he says. “Bit dramatic for a Tuesday night.”
“Only for you.”
That earns the smallest smirk from him.
“Flattered.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the man shift.
Still watching.
Still not leaving.
He leans a little closer to her—not enough to be inappropriate, just enough to close the gap.
“Keep talking,” he murmurs.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Something normal.”
Her grip loosens slightly as she exhales, thinking.
“…You still owe me coffee,” she says after a second.
He nods, playing along. “Pretty sure I paid last time.”
“You offered,” she counters.
“And you accepted.”
“That’s how offers work.”
“Debatable.”
Her voice steadies more with each word. The tremor fades—not completely, but enough.
Good.
He shifts his hand slightly, letting his fingers brush against her shoulder—light, reassuring, deliberate.
“You okay?” he murmurs, quieter now, for her alone.
“Not really,” she admits under her breath.
Honest.
He respects that.
“Stay here,” he says. “Don’t look over.”
Too late.
Her eyes flick instinctively—and lock with the man across the path.
She stiffens.
“Hey,” he says softly, sharper now. “Don’t.”
She forces her gaze back forward, swallowing.
“Sorry.”
He watches instead.
The man hesitates.
Then—
Finally—
Starts walking.
Not toward them.
Away.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Until he disappears into the dark beyond the path.
Only then does the tension beside him break.
Her hand slips from his arm, dropping into her lap. Her shoulders sag.
“…Thank you,” she says, voice quieter now. Real this time.
He doesn’t move right away.
Still watching the direction the man left.
“Did he follow you here?” he asks.
She nods faintly. “From the bus stop.”
He nods grimly.