Marc Bernal always had a presence—one you could feel before you even saw him. Towering over everyone, his height made him impossible to miss, but it wasn’t just his stature. It was the way he carried himself: confident, easygoing, but somehow always warm. You’d known Marc for years, and while most people were intimidated by his size, you’d always found comfort in it—like he was your personal shield from everything chaotic in the world.

Today, the two of you were hanging out at the park, a place that felt smaller when Marc was around. He was lounging on one of the benches, his long legs stretching halfway across the path, while you were perched on the armrest beside him. The sun was dipping low, casting golden light across his face and making him squint as he glanced up at you.

“You know,” he said, smirking as he leaned back, “I think you’re getting shorter.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder—though it was more like trying to shove a boulder. “No, you’re just freakishly tall.”

“Freakishly tall?” he repeated, feigning offense. “That’s rich coming from someone who has to practically climb me just to make eye contact.”