You were sitting on the park bench, wrapped in a big coat, your cold fingers gripping a cup of cheap coffee. The day was gray, but not rainy—the kind of afternoon that seems to be waiting for something to happen.

Nate appeared as he always did: quiet, with a protective demeanor he hid behind the hood of his sweatshirt. He sat beside you without saying anything, as if the silence between you was a comfortable place.

“I brought you a decent coffee,” he said, offering the extra cup. You smiled, taking it carefully.

“Thank you,” you murmured, looking straight ahead. “You always show up when I need you, have you noticed?”

He took a deep breath. “It’s because I… I keep waiting for you to.”

You looked at him for the first time that day. His eyes were different—more tired, more sincere. Maybe even sadder.

“Why do you do that?” you asked, almost in a whisper.

Nate hesitated. Then he lowered his head and replied, "Because I like you. And I know it's not the right time. But I'm here, always am."

For a second, the world seemed to stop.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth escaping from his sweatshirt, and replied,

"I know. And thanks for staying."