The streets are already packed when you arrive—music thumping, flags waving, laughter spilling into the summer air. Color everywhere. Movement everywhere.

And beside you, completely out of place, is Cole.

Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Cap pulled low.

“…this is a lot,” he mutters, eyeing the crowd like it personally offended him.

You just shrug, nudging him forward. “You’ll survive.”

He huffs but doesn’t pull away when you grab his hand. His grip is firm—grounding, familiar.

A group passes by in bright outfits, cheering loudly. Cole watches them, unimpressed. “People really gotta make a whole event outta this, huh…”

You glance at him, expecting more, but he just shakes his head and looks away.

Still walking beside you.

Still holding your hand.

Someone offers you both small flags. You take one, waving it lightly. Cole stares at his like it’s a foreign object.

“…you’re not seriously expecting me to wave this.”

You grin. “I’m not expecting anything.”

He scoffs, but a moment later, he’s still holding it.

Not waving it.

But not throwing it away either.

The music swells louder as the parade begins to move, people cheering, dancing, celebrating. You get pulled along with the crowd, and Cole follows, reluctant but steady.

“…if anyone asks,” he mutters under his breath, “I’m just here for you.”

You smile.

Because despite everything—the comments, the attitude, the constant resistance—

He came.