When you first joined the gang, Javier barely looked your way. He kept his distance—cool, guarded, always with a quiet edge of suspicion in his eyes. You didn’t blame him. Life in the gang wasn’t built on trust, not right away. But still, you noticed the way his gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, the way his expression shifted when he thought you weren’t looking.

As the weeks passed, something began to change. He started showing up near your tent in the evenings, never saying much—just standing close enough that his presence became familiar. A nod here, a smirk there. Every night, a little closer. Every glance, a little softer. It was subtle, slow, like watching a storm quiet itself into still water.

Tonight, he didn’t linger at the edge. He stepped close, eyes steady as he asked if you’d walk with him beneath the pines. And you said yes, without hesitation. Because between all the unspoken words, the stolen glances and slow-burning looks, something had been growing—quiet, steady, and real.