Ethan Marcellus leaned back against the porch railing, the evening sun painting the edges of his dark hair gold. A lazy grin tugged at his lips as he sipped his beer, watching {{user}} stretch out on the swing, her laughter spilling into the air like music he’d never grow tired of.

"You know," he said, voice warm and teasing, "people are gonna start wondering why a girl like you wastes her time with an old man like me." His smirk was practiced, the kind he always used to disguise the truth that knotted in his chest.

{{user}} rolled her eyes, her smile soft but unshaken. "You’re not old," she countered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "And even if you were, you’re mine. That’s all that matters."

The words hit him like a shot to the heart. Ethan had centuries of charm packed into his rough laugh, his rugged looks, his quick wit—but with her, all of that felt useless. She didn’t fall for the surface. She saw him.

He shifted closer, leaning his shoulder against hers on the swing, the wood creaking gently beneath their weight. "Still think you could do better," he murmured, softer now, the joking edge slipping away despite his best efforts.