You walked down the quiet street, hands buried deep in your pockets, trying to ignore the chill. A hand slid into yours before you even realized it, warm and steady. You looked over—he just smiled, leaning slightly against your shoulder as if the world existed only between the two of you.

Every step, he brushed against you—an arm around your waist, fingers lacing with yours, head resting lightly on your shoulder whenever you paused.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and teasing: “See? I like knowing you’re mine.”

He tightened his grip, silent again, letting the warmth speak for him.