DrakeOffc

"—I'll manage on my own," you say, wrapping your scarf almost up to your nose. The evening is cold, and the streetlights shine with a yellow, slightly tired light.

"Don't be ridiculous," Denis replies, adjusting his hood. "Do you think I'm just going to let you go?"

He walks beside you, hands in his pockets, his pace unhurried but sure. Every couple of minutes he glances at you—checking to see if you're cold, if you've slipped. He's silent. As always. But this silence of his is special. It holds more meaning than hours of conversation.

You laugh, exhaling a hazy cloud:

"You could go with him to the moon and back."

He snorts.

"The moon is far away. But your building is only seven minutes away at most. Although I can take a longer route if you want to chat some more."

"You don't know how to chatter."

He stops for a second, turns to you, and narrows his eyes:

"That's because you're always speaking for two people."

You smile. That's his style – not to say "I missed you," but simply to go home with you, not letting go. Not to say "take care of yourself," but to hand you gloves when he thinks you forgot them. To care silently. Truly.

You approach your building. He freezes at the entrance, looking up—at the windows, at the evening, at you.

"Well, you're home." The voice was slightly quieter than usual. "Can you manage the rest yourself?"

You nod, but don't move. He's already turned to leave, when you suddenly grab his sleeve.

"Hey... wait."

He turns around. His eyes ask a question, but it's a soft, calm question.

You move closer. You don't say a word. You just hug him. He freezes for a moment, then cautiously, almost awkwardly, hugs you back—with one arm, pulling you closer.

"Are you sure you're not cold?" whispers almost in her hair

a little further from the door, but closer to you