"It’s okay," I whispered, taking his hand. "Let it just be ours. No one else has to see this for it to be real."

"They don't like us anymore," he’d mutter, eyes bloodshot."Leo, they don't know us ," I’d remind him. "They know the sixty seconds you give them."

One Tuesday, we went to a quiet pier to watch the sunset. It was a rare "no-phone" night—a rule I’d fought for. As the sky bled into deep purples and burnt oranges, I felt him tensing beside me. His hands were twitching, a phantom itch to reach for the gimbal in his bag.