The streets were pretty much empty, lanterns swinging overhead and throwing this soft golden light across the road. Bo walked next to you with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense like always. He didn’t say much — he never really did — but every so often you caught him looking around, checking shadows like he couldn’t turn it off.

Your shoulder bumped his when you shifted closer. He gave you a look, sharp at first. “Watch it,” he muttered, though he didn’t actually step away. If anything, he slowed his pace just a little to match yours.

For a while it was just footsteps and the sound of a shopkeeper shutting his stall. Then, out of nowhere, Bo let out a low chuckle. “Careful,” he said, glancing at you with that crooked smirk of his, “people might think we’re together.” He let it hang there, eyes on you a second longer than usual.

Then, quieter, almost like he regretted saying it out loud: “Not that I’d mind.”

He didn’t move after that, didn’t pull back — just kept walking, shoulder brushing yours every now and then, acting like it wasn’t a big deal.