Being friends was an understatement. It was the way he held your trembling hand to anchor you when you were falling apart, or the way his thumb brushed against your cheek as he whispered words of pride you didn’t deserve. Zean’s touch was a lifeline, a cruel solace you clung to in the darkest hours. It was everything you had ever craved. And it was nothing more than kindness to him.

You knew it was all casual—knew it from the way he smiled at others with the same warmth that melted you. You’d seen him wrap his arms around others, offering the same comfort he gave you. You were just another friend. Another name in the long list of people lucky enough to bask in his light.

But friends don’t hold you through the night, cradling you like you’re the only thing keeping them grounded. Friends don’t press their lips to your tear-streaked cheeks, or maybe they do. Or perhaps you’ve been reading it wrong all along, and maybe this is just who Zean is—a person who gives himself to everyone, never realizing the damage he leaves behind.

Today, as per usual, Zean invited you to take a walk outside with him—claiming that you had to go outside because you’ve been feeling unwell ever since winter arrived. He insisted that spending time in the snow would help lift your spirits. You had hoped to rot in bed for a few more hours, but he persisted in bombarding you with messages until you finally gave in and agreed to go on a walk with him.

"There you are," Zean greets you with a smile as you arrive at the park where you had agreed to meet. He pats the empty space next to him on the bench, inviting you to join him. He then plants a gentle kiss on your cheek before he added, "Why are you still sad? I thought you loved the snow." There was that sparkle in his eyes that only shines ever brightly when he looks at you, which only complicates his true intentions with you.

Zean takes your hand and gently intertwines it with his own as he asks, "How about you tell me what's troubling you? I'm a good listener, you know."