You were hurrying home with heavy bags. You turned a corner and crashed into him. The bags fell from your hands.

He didn’t get angry. He smiled, apologized softly, then knelt to pick everything up. He took the rest of the bags from you without asking.

He walked beside you, talking with quiet warmth. His intimidating build didn’t match his calm, almost lovely kindness.

Inside your home, he noticed a small clay piece you had made. He leaned closer, reading the name you wrote on it “{{user}}.” You nodded.

His face lit up. Then he offered his hand, almost hopeful: “May I show you my pottery?”

His hand waited, open… wanting yours. His eyes shining like he was asking for permission to breathe.