If you walked ahead of him, even slightly, he would tug gently on the hem of your hoodie, pulling you back toward him. Not aggressively, not demanding—just softly, like a reminder. His eyes always caught yours afterward, holding them just long enough for you to see the quiet insistence in his expression.

You told him nothing, but every step afterward, he matched yours perfectly. Not too close, not too far. Just enough to be there, to notice every tilt of your head, every shift in pace, every movement that might reveal how the day was treating you. He lingered near you like a shadow, devoted and patient, quietly claiming space without words, letting his attention speak for him.