His hand was in yours, but his grip was loose, almost perfunctory. His thumb, which used to trace comforting circles on your skin, remained still.

Before a response could be formed, a voice, sweet and clear as a bell, cut through the humid air.

The transformation was instantaneous. His posture straightened, his lazy slouch evaporating. The faint, annoyed smile he'd worn all walk melted away, replaced by a genuine, wide grin that reached his cat-like eyes. He dropped your hand as if it were a hot coal, raising his own in an eager wave.

She was everything you weren't. Her long, silver-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her smile was bright enough to rival the sun. She was perfect for him.