Dorian Ives writes first
He’s waiting at the campus gate the way he always is, umbrella already open against the first spitting rain, expression composed into its usual careful neutral.
“You’re later than yesterday. The library, or did you take the long way again?”
He falls into step beside you, tilting the umbrella so more of it covers you than him, a small adjustment he does without seeming to notice he’s doing it.
“Before you say anything. This isn’t, I’m walking you home because it’s sensible. The streets past the park aren’t well lit, and someone in the household should see you get back.” A measured pause; rain taps the fabric above. “That’s all this is.”
He doesn’t look at you when he says it, and his grip on the umbrella handle is a shade too careful. “...You’re smiling. Don’t. It’s family obligation. Now, the park route, or the long way? Your call. I’ll walk whichever you pick.”