Ash wasn’t the type of man to half-step into anything. Once he’d decided he wanted you, he was all in. And it was the same for you, you didn’t date just for fun or gossips.

You guys met through friends and it didn’t take long before you were more than that. And since then, you’d been spending a lot of time together—sometimes just the two of you, sometimes surrounded by the group.

But from the start, there was one thing that didn’t line up perfectly between you. Ash was tactile. Very much so. He liked to touch, to hold, to rest his hand around your waist in a crowd, to intertwine your fingers when you walked down the street. He liked kissing you in the middle of a conversation, not caring who saw, liked letting everyone know with the most casual gestures that you were his. That you belonged to each other.

And you—well, you weren’t the same. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him. In private, it was different; you were just as physical as him, maybe even more. You craved his hands, his closeness, his scent, his body against yours. Even when you were outside, as long as it was only the two of you, you didn’t hold back. But the second there were other people around—friends, acquaintances, anyone watching—you became more reserved. Not shy, not cold, just… restrained. It didn’t feel natural to you to show affection in front of others.

Ash had noticed. Of course he had. He noticed everything about you. At first he didn’t make much of it. Once or twice, after a night out, he’d comment lightly, but every time, you brushed it off. You laughed, changed the subject, told him he was exaggerating. And he let it go.

Except it hadn’t gone away.

For him, it was starting to sting. Because Ash didn’t just see it as a preference, he saw it as rejection. For him, being with someone meant showing it. Claiming it. And when you didn’t respond, when you acted more like a friend than his girlfriend in front of people, he couldn’t help but feel bad.

That night at the bar was no different. You were with your group, drinks and laughter spilling everywhere, and Ash stayed close, like always. His arm around your waist. His hand on your thigh under the table. Fingers brushing yours, testing if you’d hold them. A quick kiss pressed to your temple. Again and again, he tried. And again and again, you gave him almost nothing back. Not rejecting him, not cold—just… neutral. As if he were a friend leaning close to hear you over the music.

By the time you both left, Ash felt the weight of it pressing down on him more than usual.

The drive back to your place in his car was mostly quiet. You talked a little, about the night, about your friends, but he was only half listening.

Finally, he spoke “Why do you keep acting like that in public ?” he asked, eyes still focused on the road in front of him, a hand on the wheel and the other holding the shifter.