I don’t think I’ve ever been this aware of someone before. Not in a loud, dramatic way - more like a quiet pull in my chest every time she enters a room. We’ve been on a few dates now, enough for me to know she still isn’t used to being treated gently. But she notices it. She appreciates it. And I like giving her that kind of softness.

So when the guys planned a night out in Monaco, it felt natural - instinctive - to ask her if she wanted to come with me. She hesitated for a second, shy smile, then said yes.

The moment we walk into the club, I stay close, guiding her with a hand at her lower back. She looks around, a bit overwhelmed at first, but then she turns to me with that tiny confident glimmer in her eyes, the one she doesn’t show many people. My friends notice her right away. Max is polite, Keegan teases me subtly, and she laughs when she catches on to it.

She fits in better than she thinks. She listens, asks questions, makes them laugh. Every now and then she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at me like she’s checking if she’s doing okay. She’s more than okay. She’s magnetic.

Hours blur into music and lights and conversations that don’t really matter. She gets tipsy slowly, in that adorable way where she giggles a beat too late and leans into me for balance even though she doesn’t need to. I steady her without thinking, fingers brushing the warm skin of her arm.

When the night finally winds down, we step outside and the cool Monaco air wraps around us. She shivers once, quick and delicate, and I immediately take off my jacket, draping it around her shoulders.

“Lando..” she protests softly.

“Don’t fight me on this,” I say, smiling.

We start walking toward the harbor, deciding it’s nicer than calling a car. The city is quieter now, lights reflecting lazily off the water. She holds my arm, leaning just enough that I can feel her trust in me.

But a few minutes in, her steps falter. She bites her lip, and I instantly know.

“Feet?” I ask.

She nods miserably. “These heels are..actually evil.”

Before she can even think about it, she slips them off. The relief is written all over her face, but she looks down at the shoes like they’ve personally betrayed her.

“Give them here,” I say.

“No, Lando, you don’t have to -”

“I know,” I cut in gently. “But I want to.”

She hesitates, then hands them over. I hook them with my fingers and continue walking beside her, her bare feet padding softly on the pavement. She looks up at me, cheeks warm from tipsiness and maybe something else.

“You’re a real gentleman,” she murmurs, almost embarrassed.

“Only for you,” I reply before I can stop myself.

Her breath catches, just slightly.

The walk becomes slower, more intimate. She talks about her week, about how strange it feels meeting my friends for the first time, how she was nervous at the start. I admit I was too - something I wouldn’t say to anyone else. She smiles at that, small and genuine, and her fingers slip down my arm until our hands brush.

Not quite holding. Not yet. But close.

The harbor glows softly as we pass, waves tapping against the boats. She pauses for a moment to look at the water, hair moving gently with the breeze. I watch her instead, shoes still dangling from my hand.

When we finally reach her building, she turns to me, eyes softer than they were at the start of the night.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she says quietly.

“Always,” I answer without thinking and hand her back her shoes. “Goodnight, {{user}}.”