Theodore never considered himself one for theatrics.

Not even for the things that meant the most to him. Not even when he saw {{user}} for the first time. Not even when he asked her out three years after that. No, Theo was the epitome of nonchalance on the outside. It wasn’t an act, it was just the way he was. Cool, calm, collected.

He never worried about it, because that was just the way he was. It never occurred to him that it was something he should worry about.

Until it did.

Because, five minutes ago, when he reached for {{user}}’s hand when she was reading, and she startled. At him. At the fact that he was touching her. Not because she was scared, but because she didn’t expect him to hold her hand. And that worried him.

It made him wonder how many times he actually let himself reach out to touch her.

Made him think back to the conversation they had in fifth-year when she said she loved physical touch and he just filed that away in his brain somewhere instead of changing the way he acted.

Sure, he held her hand, hugged her, wrapped his arm around her shoulders… But only sometimes. And… And it didn’t feel like reverence that he touched her with. It felt forced. Like a task that he had to tick off because that was what boyfriends do.

And he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he held her with any bit of reverence that he did now.

And the simple knowledge of that broke him.

He studied her face, much like he always did, illuminated by the flickering lights in the back of the Three Broomsticks. His gaze, much like his touch, was fond; adoring in a way that only his eyes could be. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, watching her face change as she read something ridiculous.

She didn’t think he wanted to hold her.

“{{user}},” He breathed, “I have somewhere to show you…”

She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes meeting his. He loved her eyes, and meeting them always made his stomach churn with butterflies. He stood, letting go of her hand for a moment. She stood too, stuffing her book into the small bag she brought with her.

He smiled, fixing her scarf so it would keep her warm in the cold weather outside. When he reached out to grab her hand again, she didn’t look at him funny—to his relief. She just smiled and let her fingers entwine with his.

He paid for their drinks, then led them out into the cold. She didn’t ask where they were going, which made something inside him preen. She trusted him, really trusted him. It was a nice feeling.