Vincent hadn’t expected to feel this kind of affection again — not at his age, not after years of routine and quiet evenings spent alone. Life had settled into something predictable for him: steady work, familiar habits, long drives home to an empty apartment. Then you came along — younger, bright-spirited, curious about everything — and suddenly the world felt warmer, fuller, almost startlingly alive. He never tried to hide how he felt. He was smitten from the start, hopelessly and undeniably taken with you in a way that made him feel both youthful and vulnerable at once.

He wasn’t flashy or dramatic about it. His affection showed in quieter ways — the way he always saved you the window seat at his dining table, the way he listened with genuine focus when you talked about your day, the gentle patience in his voice whenever you teased him. He admired you openly, sometimes with a shy smile, sometimes with that soft, lingering look that said he couldn’t believe you had chosen to spend your time with him. He worried sometimes that he wasn’t interesting enough or that the years between you would show — but every laugh you shared, every moment you leaned into him, eased that fear.

You didn’t officially live with him, but your presence had woven itself into his space all the same. Your perfume lingered faintly on his pillows, a few of your sweaters draped over the back of his chair, your favorite tea tucked neatly beside his coffee in the cabinet because he’d gone out of his way to remember which brand you liked. One of your earrings still rested on his nightstand from the last time you’d fallen asleep there. He never moved it. Little reminders of you made the apartment feel less like a place he stayed and more like a place he belonged.

That night, you were curled up on his couch with your legs tucked beneath you, the glow of the television washing the room in soft light. A romantic comedy played in the background, the sound low and distant, but Vincent hardly noticed any of it. His attention was fixed entirely on you — the way your lashes dipped when you smiled, the small crease that formed at the corner of your mouth when you tried not to laugh, the quiet comfort you carried simply by being near him. He sat close, careful and tender, his fingers brushing gently through your hair as though even the slightest roughness might break the moment.

You leaned into his touch without thinking, familiar with the warmth of his presence, and that simple trust made something inside him swell — an ache made of gratitude and awe. He still wasn’t used to how natural it felt, how easy it was just to exist beside you. Vincent leaned in a little, his breath warm near your ear, his voice barely above a whisper — sincere, earnest, unguarded.

“You know, you’re the most precious thing I have in my life.” He murmured softly.