It wasn't planned. That was the first thing Liora noticed. There was no agreement, no message, no reason given beyond the quiet assumption that if she walked a certain way at a certain time—he would be there. And he was.
"…You're doing this on purpose."
Adrian glanced at her as they walked side by side, the city stretching around them in the soft blur of late afternoon movement. "…Doing what?"
"Making this feel normal."
A small pause. "…I'm not."
She gave him a look. "…You are."
"No."
"…You really think I don't notice?"
"I think you notice everything."
That wasn't a denial.
Liora exhaled softly, her gaze shifting ahead again as people passed them in both directions, conversations overlapping, footsteps blending into a steady rhythm. "…Then you know what I mean."
"Yes."
"…And you're still doing it."
"Yes."
At least he was honest.
"…That's not better."
"It isn't meant to be."
She almost smiled at that. Almost.
They turned a corner without discussing it, their pace matching without effort, the space between them closer than it had been before. Not accidental. Not entirely intentional either. Just—unforced.
"…So what is this?" she asked after a moment.
"A walk."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"…Then answer the question I meant."
A brief silence. "…This is time," he said.
Liora frowned slightly. "…That's vague."
"It's accurate."
"…You're impossible."
"I've been told that."
This time, she did smile. Faint. Brief. Real.
They walked in silence for a few steps after that, the air settling into something quieter—not empty, just shared. A storefront window caught her attention as they passed, the reflection of the street bending slightly in the glass. For a moment, she saw them both—side by side, close enough that it almost looked natural. The reflection flickered. Just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But Liora saw it. The space between them shifted—wider for a fraction of a second, then corrected. Clean. Instant.
She didn't stop walking. "…That was you."
"Yes."
Her gaze stayed forward. "…It didn't feel like the others."
"No."
Of course it didn't.
They continued on, the rhythm returning, settling. Then a sharp sound cut through the air—glass. Somewhere nearby, a bottle slipped from someone's hand, falling toward the pavement at an angle that would shatter on impact. Liora's attention snapped toward it automatically. The fall was wrong. Too fast. Too direct. It hit—and didn't. The moment stuttered. Not cleanly. Not completely. The glass met the ground and for a fraction of a second it existed in two states—shattered and whole—before resolving into whole, rolling slightly before coming to a stop intact. The person who dropped it blinked, confused, then picked it up like nothing had happened.
Liora didn't move. "…That wasn't you."
"No."
His answer came immediately.
Her chest tightened slightly. "…It's getting worse."
"Yes."
The words came too easily between them now.
"…It was both," she said quietly. "For a second."
A pause. "…Yes."
That was new.
Liora swallowed faintly, her gaze lingering on the bottle before she looked away again. "…That shouldn't happen."
"No."
"…And it's going to happen more."
"Yes."
She let out a slow breath. "…That's not reassuring."
"No."
They kept walking. The street grew quieter as they moved further from the main flow of people, the noise softening into something more distant, more manageable. Liora's hand brushed against his. She stilled—not from surprise, but from awareness. Before, she would have pulled away. This time, she didn't. Neither did he. The contact remained—light, barely there, but real.
Liora exhaled slowly, her fingers shifting just slightly—not quite holding, not quite pulling away. "…You're not fixing that."
"No."
"…You could."
"Yes."
"…And you're choosing not to."
"Yes."
Her chest tightened faintly at that. Not from fear. Something else.
"…Why?"
A pause. "…Because you didn't."
The answer was simple. Too simple.
Liora looked at him then, really looked at him, something unreadable passing through her expression. "…That's unfair."
"Yes."
"…You keep doing that."
"I know."
She let out a quiet breath, her hand still brushing against his as they walked. "…You're making this harder."
"Yes."
"…On purpose."
"No."
That made her hesitate. "…Then why does it feel like it?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. "…Because you're not ignoring it."
That landed.
Because it was true.
Liora looked away again, her thoughts catching on that in a way she couldn't quite untangle. "…Everything else feels unstable," she said after a moment. "…But this doesn't."
A pause. "…No," Adrian said quietly.
"…Why?"
"…Because I'm not changing it."
Again. That answer. And again—it made sense.
They turned another corner, the light shifting lower, the air cooling slightly as evening approached. The world pressed again—not visibly, but Liora felt it now. A delay in movement. A hesitation in sound. A subtle misalignment in the way things flowed. More frequent. Closer.
"…They're pushing more," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"…You can feel it."
"Yes."
"…And you're still not worried."
"No."
Of course he wasn't.
Liora shook her head faintly, but there was less resistance in it now. Not acceptance. But something closer. "…You're ridiculous."
"Yes."
That made her smile again—small, but real.
They slowed as they reached the edge of the street, the crosswalk ahead shifting through its signals in steady intervals. For a moment, neither of them moved.
"…This is a date, isn't it."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Adrian looked at her. "…If you want it to be."
That wasn't what she expected.
Liora blinked slightly, caught off guard in a way nothing else had managed to do. "…That's not an answer."
"It is."
"…It's not a clear one."
"It's the only one that matters."
She stared at him for a second longer. "…You're unbelievable."
"Yes."
A pause. "…It is, though."
The admission came quieter. Not reluctant. Just real.
Adrian didn't respond. He didn't need to.
The signal changed.
They stepped forward together.
And for a moment—just a moment—the world felt almost stable. Not because it was, but because they were still walking through it, side by side, and neither of them pulled away.