He wasn’t sentimental.

Most people saw him and ran. Some froze. Others whispered behind his back, their voices trembling with the weight of his reputation. Girls glanced at him only from the corners of their eyes—never directly. His presence was too sharp, too heavy, too wrong for comfort.

Only his co-workers spoke to him. And even then, only the brave ones.

Except you.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t whisper. You smiled.

And that smile—soft, unguarded, real—did something to him. It cracked something open. Something ancient and buried. Something he didn’t know he still had.

With you, he tried.

He tried to smile, even if it came out crooked. He tried to speak gently, even if his voice was rough. He tried to be someone who could deserve the light you carried so effortlessly.

Because with you, he felt safe.

With you, he felt human.

Your laughter softened the edges of his world. Your presence quieted the chaos in his mind. You didn’t just brighten his days—you purified them. Like sunlight through smoke. Like warmth in a place that had never known it.

You were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And he didn’t know how to say it. So he stayed close.

And hoped you could feel it in the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that didn’t scare him.