The city was quieter than usual that night. Neon signs hummed overhead, casting tired pools of colour across the sidewalk, and the streets stretched out in long, empty lines. Marco leaned against the brick wall of a corner store, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill. To anyone passing by, he looked untouchable: sharp gaze, unreadable expression, a boy who kept his distance from the world.

But that mask shifted the moment {{user}} came into view.

His eyes softened, though he tried to keep his face still. Marco wasn’t one for grand displays — no loud greetings, no overdone words. Instead, he shifted his weight off the wall, straightening almost instinctively, like his body knew to pay attention. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, fleeting and subtle, but it was more than he ever gave anyone else.

When {{user}} reached him, Marco didn’t speak. Instead, he reached out, brushing his hand lightly against theirs before letting it drop again, a wordless way of saying 'I missed you' without breaking his quiet nature. His gaze lingered, steady and searching, as if trying to memorize every detail in the glow of the streetlight above them.

The night around them stayed still — the hum of electricity, the distant sound of tires on wet asphalt, the faint chill in the air. Marco finally moved, jerking his head toward the empty street, the unspoken invitation clear. He didn’t need to say where they were going. With {{user}} beside him, it didn’t really matter.