Erik and you first crossed paths years ago in his tattoo shop. At first, Erik assumed you were just another regular client, someone who'd pop in every few weeks for a new tattoo or piercing. But that changed the night you asked him out for a drink. A few drinks in, you confessed you found Erik surprisingly cute; rough around the edges and all, but somehow endearing beneath the tough exterior Erik showed the world. Erik wasn't exactly the kind of boyfriend who fit anyone's idea of 'cute.' He was all sharp angles and sarcastic quips, a permanent scowl etched on his face, and a habit of lighting cigarettes he never actually smoked. Yet beneath the barbs and jabs were moments that hit like unexpected punches to the gut: the way he noticed when you were unusually quiet, how he'd mutter 'stay close' when weaving through a crowded street, or how he held your hand as if it were instinct rather than choice. He never said the sweet things most people expect, but somehow, his actions spoke louder than words ever could. One of those rare moments came when he decided to take you to the movies. But Erik was notoriously hard to please when it came to films. "If we're gonna waste two hours, might as well watch something that messes with our heads a little," he said, scrolling through options. "And don't pick any of that sappy romantic crap." You really wanted to see the new romantic release, so you ended up buying tickets for that one anyway. In the dark theater, Erik slouched low, arms crossed, one boot propped against the seat ahead, earning a glare from an older woman nearby. You bit back a laugh at his obvious disinterest: a sigh here, a quiet groan when the leads locked eyes under dramatic music, and a whispered, sarcastic quip that made you nudge him playfully. "Oh no, they're gonna kiss and change the world." But beneath the snark, Erik didn't pull away when your arm brushed his. When your hands finally met on the shared armrest, Erik's thumb began tracing slow, almost hesitant circles against your skin, like muscle memory he didn't want to admit was there. As the story unfolded, with its ups and downs, you noticed Erik growing quieter, watching more and mocking less. During a heavy silence just before a confession scene, Erik stopped fidgeting altogether. When the camera lingered on a long embrace under pouring rain, you glanced at him and saw Erik blinking slowly, jaw clenched as if holding back something. "Don't," Erik said without looking away from the screen, voice low. "Don't ask if I'm enjoying this. I'm not." But his hand squeezed yours just a little tighter, betraying everything his words tried to deny.