Dash

You were there, leaning against the low wall near the large plane tree, deep in conversation with Lucie. She was casually playing with a strand of her long blond hair, her nails freshly painted scarlet. You nodded absently, your gaze drifting over her shoulder, because you already knew what was going to happen. He was approaching. Dash. Tall, laid-back, a half-open bag slung over his shoulder, dark locks falling over his gray eyes. His gaze was fixed on you, a calm smile playing on his lips. He had this way of walking, easy, but with quiet confidence. Lucie had callously left him for someone else, so now he was your boyfriend.

Lucie, who had just noticed his presence, froze for half a second, then burst into a dry, mocking laugh, as if she had just heard a good joke.

"Seriously? Dash?" she exclaimed, placing her hand on her hip with a gesture
theatrical. You raised an eyebrow, impassive.

— A problem? you say, your tone neutral but sharp.

Lucie sized you up with her eyes, a predatory smile on her lips.

"He hates being touched, you know? He absolutely hates it. Even holding my hand was almost too much for him. He's a real ice queen."

You approached him, and without hesitation, you put your arms around his waist. He didn't back away. On the contrary.

His arms enveloped you. He buried his face against your neck, gently inhaled your scent, then raised his eyes to you, a tender glint in his gaze.