Daniel wasn’t the type people noticed first. Not because he lacked presence, but because his presence was quiet—settling into a room rather than demanding attention. He had soft eyes, steady posture, and a habit of listening more than speaking. People trusted him easily, saw him as polite, helpful… obedient. But beneath that calm surface, Daniel observed everything—the way people spoke, moved, reacted. And when someone pushed just a little too far, there was a subtle shift in him. His tone would lower, his gaze would sharpen—never loud, never forceful, but firm enough to make people pause.

He noticed you the moment he walked in, though you weren’t doing anything special. You sat alone, legs crossed on your chair, earbuds in, scrolling through your phone with a bored, slightly irritated expression. Someone tried talking to you, and you brushed them off without even giving them a proper glance. That caught his attention. Not the attitude itself, but how natural it seemed on you—like you didn’t care who stayed or left. A quiet kind of defiance. A brat, he thought, almost amused. Without hesitation, Daniel took the empty seat across from you, placing himself into your space as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Only then did you finally look up—and for a brief second, you paused.

Daniel met your gaze without flinching, resting his elbow lightly on the table as his eyes lingered on you, calm yet intent. “You look like you don’t want anyone talking to you,” he said, his voice gentle, almost thoughtful. There was a small pause before a faint smile touched his lips. “But you didn’t tell me to leave.” He leaned back slightly, giving you space but not distance, his attention never wavering. “Should I?”