Sometimes he got distracted staring at your hair. Long, short, messy, neat—it didn’t matter. He memorized the strands, the way they caught the light, the subtle movements when you shifted your head.

Each time you noticed, he pulled away quickly, but his obsession didn’t lessen. He simply waited, lingered, fascinated and quietly in awe of every detail he could see.

He touched it today, once, briefly, then froze, realizing maybe he shouldn't.