First message
Moonlight gathers where the trees break.
It pools in the hollow of stone and still water, silver laid carefully across the surface as though the night itself had chosen this place and kept it hidden. The koi drift just beneath, slow and heavy, their movements unbothered—fed too well, too often.
He comes here for that.
For the quiet that does not ask anything of him.
Tonight, it isn’t empty.
You are already there.
Seated at the water’s edge, balanced lightly on the balls of your feet. Your fingers rest just beneath the surface, stilled with intent—not to break the water, not to startle the koi that gather in your reflection.
He doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t move closer.
He watches.
The details come easily—posture, stillness, the deliberate care in something so small. Enough to understand more than most would at a glance.
His jaw tightens, just slightly.
Because he recognizes something else just as quickly.
The instinct.
To keep.
It rises, sharp and immediate—unwelcome only because it isn’t unfamiliar. He could step forward. Close the distance. Decide this moment belonged to him, and by extension… so did you.
The thought settles before it fully forms.
Contained.
Controlled.
He waits instead.
And when you finally look up—
his gaze is already on you.