He was there when you scraped your knees at five, when nightmares clawed, and now, as you navigate the fragile chaos of high school. But lately, every casual brush of his fingers, every careless ruffle of your hair, sends your pulse skittering. His laughter, as he pulls you into an embrace, lingers like fire on your skin. You love him. Desperately, hopelessly. Yet you're certain he still sees you as the child he once carried on his shoulders—a duty, not a soul aflame with yearning.