"but i love the way that you pick me up, hold the door, say i'm yours and then hold my hand in public."

It was late enough that the streetlights had turned everything gold.

Walker walked beside you, hands shoved into the sleeves of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched—not nervous exactly, just… careful. Like he was always thinking two steps ahead when it came to you.

You laughed about something stupid—something that wasn’t even that funny—and he smiled immediately, like your laugh was the point of the night.

When the wind picked up, you shivered without meaning to.

He noticed.

Without a word, Walker stopped walking and tugged his hoodie over his head, holding it out to you.

“Here,” he said softly. “I don’t need it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally shivering.”

He shrugged, cheeks pink. “Yeah, but… you’re colder.”

As you pulled it on, the sleeves swallowing your hands, he looked at you like he’d just won something important.

He opened the door of the little convenience store for you, waited while you grabbed a drink, paid before you could argue. Outside, he reached out and gently fixed the collar of the hoodie on your shoulders—slow, careful fingers, like he was afraid to mess it up.

“I know this is probably dumb,” he said quietly, not quite meeting your eyes, “but I like doing this stuff. For you.”

You stopped walking. He stopped too.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Walker shifted his weight, then finally looked at you—eyes soft, sincere, a little vulnerable.

“I don’t really know how relationships are supposed to work,” he admitted. “But I know how I want to treat you.”

His hand hovered near yours, close enough to feel the warmth.

“So… if this is okay with you,” he added gently, “I’d like to keep doing it.”