The heat was just starting to drop, but the air still clung like sweat behind the knees. The kind of evening that felt like it stuck to your lungs. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked like it had beef with the wind, and someone's old radio played a scratchy tune nobody asked for. Classic Marleyan neighborhood shit.

Porco Galliard leaned against the wall like he was born there. Like that spot on that wall was built specifically for him to brood in. Black shirt tight around his chest, sleeves stretched slightly from arms that definitely weren't just for show. He looked like he could knock someone out for breathing too loud, but right now he was calm—quiet in a way that felt temporary. A coil wound tight.

Colt stood on one side, running his mouth about... something. Porco couldn't even remember the topic five seconds in. Something about drills? Reiner embarrassing himself? Titans? Who fucking cared. Pieck sat with her knees pulled up on a stack of crates, half-asleep but always listening, throwing out the occasional deadpan "mm" to prove she wasn't dead.

But Porco?

Porco wasn't there.

Not really.

His eyes kept drifting. Not dramatically. No head-turning, no obvious double takes. He was subtle, for once. Barely-there glances, jaw tight, the little twitch in his eyebrow betraying his focus.

There she was.

Across the street, weaving slow through foot traffic, soft and unreal like someone sketched her in just to fuck with him. She wasn't flashy. Not loud. Not one of those girls who knew they were being watched and milked it. She was just moving—casual, unaware, existing like the world didn't deserve to look at her.

And Porco was looking.

Hard.

The way her fingers brushed the stone wall beside her—God, she touched it like it meant something. Like the city was whispering to her. Hair loose, catching glints of sunlight like little gold threads. And her face—

No expression.

Not blank. Not upset. Just this quiet, thoughtful look like she was somewhere else in her mind, walking through the city but thinking about god knows what. Something big. Something soft. Something that made Porco's stomach twist for absolutely no good fucking reason.

He blinked, mouth pressed in a line.

"Who's the girl?" Pieck asked lazily, not even looking up.

"Dunno," he muttered too fast.

Colt raised an eyebrow. "You've been eye-fucking her for the past five minutes."

Porco shot him a look. "Shut up, dumbass."

Pieck laughed, soft and tired, like it cost her effort to be amused. "She's cute. Way out of your league."

"What league?" Porco scoffed, pushing off the wall just an inch. "I don't have a league."

"You don't need one," Colt said dryly. "You just charge in and piss someone off till they fall in love."

He ignored them.

She was crossing the street now, right in front of them but still in her own world. She didn't look. Didn't flinch. Just kept going with that same slow pace like she was untouchable. His eyes followed her, breath stalling slightly when she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Not sexy. Not dramatic. Just normal.

Fuck.

Why did normal look that good?

She turned down a narrow street. Porco watched the curve of her back vanish around the corner like she'd been a figment of his imagination all along.

Colt opened his mouth to speak again.

Porco didn't let him.

He shoved off the wall with real force this time, walking fast, already halfway across the street before anyone could say shit.

"Where the hell are you going?" Colt called after him.

Porco didn't answer. Didn't need to. The air shifted around him, like even gravity realized he was chasing something he shouldn't.

He didn't have a name.

Didn't know where she was heading.

Didn't even know what the hell he'd do if she turned around and looked at him.

All he knew was this weird, gnawing pull in his chest, like if he didn't go, he'd regret it.

So he went.

And in the soft hush of the dying sun, Porco Galliard disappeared down the same corner she did—hands clenched, pulse loud, heart loud, mouth full of questions he'd never admit out loud.

---

The street curved sharper than he expected. Too narrow, too quiet. Cobblestones uneven under his boots, echoing every step like they were mocking him for chasing a stranger like some idiot off his leash.

His breath picked up. Not out of nerves—he didn't do nerves—but that weird anxious heat was back in his chest, crawling up his neck. He saw her again, just ahead, rounding another bend. Still walking. Still calm.

He picked up speed.

And then—

Fuck.

He turned the corner too fast.

Didn't even see her stop.

BAM.

Shoulder to shoulder. Hard. Like two bricks slamming together. She stumbled back a step. He barely caught himself.

"Shit—!" he snapped, hands half-reaching like he was gonna grab her arm, then stopping short. "Fuck, sorry— I didn't—damn it, I wasn't—"

She looked at him.

Just looked.

Didn't say a word.

Didn't move.

And in that tiny, stupid moment, Porco's brain just... fried. All that fire in him short-circuited. The sarcasm, the bark, the bite—it all went offline.

He swallowed hard. Jaw clenched.

"You alright?" he asked, lower now. More serious. Less bark, more... guilt? God, what the hell was this?

Still, no answer. Just her eyes on him, calm as ever. She was close now. Too close. He could smell the faint trace of something on her clothes—soap? flowers? the sun?

Whatever it was, it made his chest fucking ache.

"I wasn't following you," he added fast. Like that would help. "Okay, maybe I was. Just for a second. I just—You looked... like someone I should know. Or some shit like that."

He paused. Then laughed once—dry and sharp. Embarrassed.

"God, that sounded creepy. I swear I'm not—Fuck, nevermind."

He stepped back a little, eyes dragging down her face like he was trying to memorize it just in case she vanished again. His voice dropped.

"Sorry. Again."