His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together with a gentle, familiar pressure. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal the quiet, warmly lit hallway leading to his apartment.

He unlocks the door, pushing it open. The apartment is spacious and clean, all soft neutrals and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the glittering city skyline. He toes off his shoes by the entryway, a habit from his Kansas upbringing.

He doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he uses it to pull you closer, his other hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His thumb traces the line of your jaw.