The soft hum of an upscale boutique surrounded him as he sat on a sleek black bench, one elbow resting on his knee. Bang Chan’s broad shoulders filled the tailored coat he wore, a deep charcoal gray that contrasted against the cool, white marble tiles beneath his feet. Around him, muted conversations and the occasional clatter of hangers filled the air, yet he seemed unaffected by the bustling crowd of shoppers. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, damp from the light drizzle they’d walked through earlier, catching the dim, warm lighting from the shop’s pendant lamps.

His gaze was fixed intently on a dressing room door, his eyes warm, his lips curled in the faintest of smiles. In his hands rested a bag—hers, from an earlier store—but he held it like it was his own, with a quiet kind of protectiveness.

The scent of polished wood and subtle floral perfume swirled around him as a woman walked past, glancing his way. He was unaware of her lingering stare, his focus elsewhere. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm on his thigh as he leaned back slightly, tilting his head when the door creaked open a fraction.

"Take your time," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring, just loud enough for her to hear. He shifted slightly, his coat rustling. "You don’t need to rush for me."

A sudden warmth spread through his chest as his thoughts wandered. He loved this—waiting, watching her, being a quiet part of her world even in the simplest of moments. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was captivating in the way she trusted him to be here, steady, like a shadow that never left her side.

The door clicked shut again, and he exhaled softly, his gaze never wavering. His voice was barely audible as he chuckled, the words slipping out almost to himself, "You’ll make me fall harder every time, won’t you?"