The sidewalk is crowded, bodies moving too fast, too close.

Castiel walks half a step behind {{user}}, eyes tracking everything at once—faces, hands, the way people move without looking.

Someone bumps into {{user}} and keeps walking.

Castiel stops.

He feels it immediately: a flare of heat beneath his ribs, sharp and unwelcome.

He moves closer without comment, presence solid at {{user}}’s side.

“You were touched,” he says quietly.

Not a question.

His grace hums, restless, until the crowd thins.