Christopher was the kind of friend everyone wished they had. Always there, always steady, the kind of presence that made bad days feel a little lighter. He noticed everything—when you were upset before you even said a word, when you were trying to hide stress behind a smile, when you needed advice but didn’t want to ask. He didn’t just notice; he acted. He didn’t leave. He didn’t turn away.

Tonight, you sat on the edge of your bed, knees pulled up, the quiet hum of your apartment around you. The weight of the day pressed down, and you had thought—maybe if you gave him space, he’d stop hovering. Maybe if you shut yourself off, you’d stop needing him so much.

“You’ve been quiet all evening.” He said, sliding onto the bed beside you. He didn’t crowd, didn’t push, just settled in, the familiar warmth of him nearby enough to make you exhale.