There’s something about walking with her at night.

Elizabeth Olsen has that kind of warmth that makes the world quieter around her. You don’t need music. You don’t need a plan. You just need the next step, the sidewalk under your feet, and her fingertips brushing against yours like they’ve done it a thousand times before. Like this is all you were ever meant to be doing.

You’re not even sure where you’re going tonight. The restaurant’s behind you, the buzzing city humming in the background, the stars doing their best to break through the light pollution. And the streetlights— They’re dimming.

You notice it first. One flickers overhead, casting a soft amber glow on the pavement. Another goes dark completely. You glance up, confused for a second.

Then Lizzie notices you noticing.

“Hey,” she says, nudging you with her shoulder. “What’re you looking at?”

You point up. “They’re dimming the streetlights. I think the city’s trying to save power or something.”

She hums. “Maybe it’s just setting the mood.”

You raise a brow. “For what, exactly?”

Lizzie gives you that grin. The one that’s all corners of her mouth and nowhere near innocent. But then she looks away, like the moment’s too much. Like saying the next part might let the truth slip out too easily.

So you say it instead. Because she should hear it.

“You’re perfect for me,” you say quietly, like it’s just another part of the breeze.

She stops walking.

You don’t mean to make it a big moment, but suddenly her eyes are on you, wide and soft and unreadable.

“What?” she asks. Like she heard you. Like she just needs to hear it again.

You smile nervously. “I just mean… everything feels easier with you. Lighter. I like when the world gets quieter like this. When there’s nothing else but us.”

Lizzie lets the silence sit for a second too long. You think maybe you said too much.

But then she steps closer. Her hands find yours — fingertips first, then palms, then a quiet squeeze that makes your chest ache in the good way.

“You always do that,” she murmurs, smiling just a little. “Say things I want to say, but don’t know how.”

You chuckle. “Good thing one of us is emotionally literate.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughs, shoving your shoulder playfully before leaning into your side.

The two of you keep walking. The street is nearly dark now, just the moonlight and the occasional flicker of passing headlights.

And you think about all the noise you’ve known before — the parties, the flings, the moments that didn’t mean enough to miss. But this?

This silence? This warmth? This girl with sleepy eyes and her head resting on your shoulder as you walk without speaking?

This is what you meant when you said perfect.

Not flawless. Not easy. Just… right.

So when Lizzie whispers, “You’re perfect for me too,” you don’t need music or fireworks or applause.

You just tighten your fingers around hers and keep walking.

The world can go dim.

You already found your light.