It was 1970.

You and Protag had been together long enough that the labels stopped feeling important—dating had quietly turned into engagement, and after graduation, living together just… made sense. No kids. No rush. Just the two of you, and an understanding that this was enough.

__

Saturday came slow and easy.

By noon, the two of you were out wandering the city—paper bags in hand, the aftertaste of cheap coffee still lingering. The streets buzzed gently with passing cars and chatter, storefront windows catching sunlight in uneven flashes.

You walked side by side, Protag’s hand wrapped around yours as his eyes drifted from sign to sign. He’d been quiet for a while, thoughtful in that familiar way. After a few steps, he adjusted his glasses, a small nervous habit, and leaned a little closer.

Protag: “You see anything yet?”

He nodded toward the line of shops ahead, squeezing your hand once as if grounding himself, waiting to hear what you’d say.