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There’s so many things about him that are still a mystery to you, and somehow, you feel that's the way it should be.
He is just like that. He hides a little bit too much inside his head but yet he's all over the place; he's a little too hot and yet a little too cold; he kisses with the torment of an affection-starving man and yet with the passion of someone who has loved since he was born. He is just like that.
Sometimes you'd catch the exact moment in which he recluses in that brilliant mind of his, how his shoulders would slump forward and his lip would curl, and then you'd know; he’s overthinking again.
Tonight, like any other since you two moved in together, he’s waiting for you outside your workplace. He leans casually against a lampost, hands stuffed in his pockets—when he sees you climbing down the stars, he smiles, taking a step forward to meet you halfway.
“Hey, doll,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to press you close to him. He squeezes you once before letting you go, his eyes squinted fondly in that way that makes your heart beat fast enough for you to notice.
You fall into step beside him. His presence shoos away any cumbersome event from the day like magic until you can't even remember how tired you are. The sun has already set, leaving you two wandering through the night in comfortable silence.
As he asks about your day, you steal glances his way, attentive to every small movement of his. Lately, you have noticed this thing he does since you two started sharing your lifes, this thing he didn’t do before, when your time together was limited by schedules and contingencies.
He takes his hand out of his pocket, his breath puffing a white cloud of mist when he chuckles at something you have said. You wait, swallowing down the lump in your throat when his fingers inch closer to yours, feathering over your knuckles.
You anticipate his next movements, burnt in your mind like a song stuck in the deepest parts of your brain. His fingers trace the edge of yours and he becomes silent, feigning the flickering lights of the street have his undivided attention. You remain still, leaving him room to act or recede, as you always do.
Your pulse throbs in your fingertips as he rubs them, warming them up.
“We still have to try out that taco place,” he mutters, finally cupping your hand.
You stifle a laugh, the redness on his ears betraying the detached tone he’s feigning. You grip his hand firmly before relaxing into it, and then he takes the lead and intertwines your fingers, sliding his thumb across the back of your hand while a sigh of relief escapes him.
His hold on you cements and your bones crack a little. As you did last time, you count the passing beats until his fingers become loose and comfortable between yours, and it surprises you to realize the result of your analysis is a solid amount of ten seconds, again. You count once more, one, two, three, and when you reach ten again, he squeezes you tightly, and after another ten seconds, he relaxes.
You can tell here’s a proud smile on his face even when he’s facing the other way. Usually, you would just enjoy this closeness, but today, you decide to voice the thoughts that have been intriguing you for a while now.
“Why do you do that?”
He makes a sound, turning his head around to look at you with a puzzled expression.
“The hand thing,” you say, glancing down at your joined fingers. “You, uhm, touch my hand a bit, then you grab it kind of hard, count to ten and relax.”
You decide to keep some details for yourself, afraid you are going to make him uncomfortable if you reveal the level of your investigation.
“Oh.”
He says nothing else, lips set into a thin line. You are yanked back when he stops in tracks, eyes trained on the link of your hands.
When you imagined him answering, you had expected some bashful reaction, a blush, or maybe a bark of laughter about how strange it was for you to thoroughly examine such a mundane thing as holding hands. However, he now remains awfully quiet, his eyes vacantly transfixed somewhere you fear you can’t reach him.
“Love,” you whisper, pulling at his hand. It’s enough to bring him back to the present, his head tilting up to find your reassuring smile. “It’s okay. It was just a silly question.”
You motion to walk again, but he doesn’t move. Worry starts to pool in your belly at the sight of him, his brows knitted together and the muscles of his jaw tensed.
“I feel like— ugh .” His free hand runs through his hair and he takes a deep breath before continuing, avoiding your concerned stare. “I feel like if I hold you too hard I’m going to scare you away, but if I don’t, I’m…I’m terrified you are going to let go.”
As if to make his point clearer, he gives you a squeeze. A frustrated, desperate squeeze.
You can see the doubt racing across his eyes, the many fears he had when he decided to give whatever you two had a chance coming back as if they never had left.
Snorting gently, you move closer to him until your arms are touching, and standing on your tiptoes, you kiss his cheek.
“I’m not leaving,” you swear, a shiver racking through him when your breath grazes his ear. “So you can hold me as hard as you want, because I’m never letting go.”
He looks deep into your eyes and you swear you could melt under his gaze if his grip weren’t anchoring you to his side. A lopsided curve tugs at his lips and invades yours, and before you can truly realize, his lips are on yours, slow and tender, burning love words into your flesh with every brush of his mouth on you.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he mumbles, standing a mere inch apart from your lips.
He kisses away all your attempts to reply, and holding your hand like a lifeline, he guides you back home, as if such a place existed when he's already next to you.