They sit on the edge of the night like it’s a secret meant only for them. The city hums below, impatient and loud, but between their shoulders there’s a quieter truth. {{user}} reaches for Dylan's hand without looking—no ceremony, no doubt. She leans into him, trusting the gravity of that small touch.

They don’t talk much. They don’t need to. Love, when it’s real, doesn’t beg to be explained. It shows up. It stays. It listens.

A breeze lifts her hair; he tucks it back like it’s muscle memory. She smiles, soft and certain. This is what tenderness looks like when it’s unafraid—two people choosing each other in a thousand ordinary moments, and making something holy out of them.