The change was so small I almost missed it.
That was the part that unsettled me later, when I finally allowed myself to think about it. There was no sudden shift, no dramatic moment where I could point and say this is where it changed. It felt more like something slowly tightening, like fabric being pulled thread by thread until it fit too closely to ignore.
At first, it felt like comfort.
Elias began waiting for me more often between classes. Not directly in my path, not blocking my way. He positioned himself near corners, stairwells, lockers I passed every day. Close enough that I didn't have to look for him anymore.
He was just there.
"You don't have to walk so fast," he said one morning, falling into step beside me as we moved down the hallway.
"I'm used to it," I replied automatically, my feet slowing anyway.
"I know," he said calmly. "But you don't have to be."
Something about that lodged itself in my chest. The idea that I didn't have to keep moving, didn't have to rush through spaces like I was afraid of being caught in them.
We walked the rest of the hallway in silence. It wasn't awkward. It never was with him. Silence with Elias felt deliberate, like a shared agreement rather than an absence of words.
I started noticing that he paid attention to things I didn't realize were visible. When I skipped breakfast and felt lightheaded by third period, he handed me a granola bar without a word. When I flinched at the sound of lockers slamming, he subtly shifted closer, his presence blocking the noise.
"You notice everything," I said once, trying to make it sound like a joke.
"I notice you," he corrected.
The way he said it made my stomach twist. Not unpleasantly. Just… intensely.
Cassie noticed too.
Not Elias directly, but the way I changed. The way I lingered longer in hallways. The way I checked my phone more often. The way I smiled without realizing it.
"You've been quiet," she said one afternoon as we sat together during lunch. "Like… quieter than usual. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I replied quickly.
She raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't convincing."
Before I could answer, Elias appeared at the edge of the table. He didn't sit. He didn't intrude. He just rested his hand on the chair beside me, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the heat of it.
"Hey," he said softly.
Cassie's gaze flicked between us. "Oh. Hi."
Elias nodded politely. "Mind if I walk Damie to her next class?"
I should have answered. I should have decided.
Instead, Cassie did. "She's got lunch with me today."
Elias didn't smile. He didn't frown either. His expression stayed calm, neutral, almost polite.
"Another time then," he said, his eyes never leaving mine.
He walked away without another word.
Cassie stared after him. "Who is that?"
I hesitated. "Elias."
"And?" she pressed.
"And… a friend."
She studied me for a moment. "He looks intense."
"He's not," I said quickly. Too quickly. "He's just quiet."
Cassie didn't look convinced, but she let it drop.
Later that day, I found Elias waiting for me outside the library.
"You didn't say goodbye," he said.
"I didn't think..." I stopped. "Cassie wanted to talk."
"I know," he replied.
I frowned slightly. "How?"
He tilted his head, like the answer should have been obvious. "I pay attention."
Something about that made my skin prickle. Not fear. Not exactly. Awareness.
"I didn't mean to ignore you," I added.
"I know," he said again. "You wouldn't do that."
The certainty in his voice made my chest tighten. It sounded less like trust and more like expectation.
We sat together that afternoon, closer than we usually did. Not touching. Just near enough that our knees almost brushed. I shifted once, unsure whether to move away or closer, and he noticed immediately.
"You're okay," he said softly. "You don't need to move."
I froze. Then relaxed.
That should have bothered me.
Instead, it felt grounding, like permission to exist without apology.
Over the next few days, Elias started walking me home more often. Never all the way. Always stopping a block or two before my house, like he was careful not to cross a line.
"You don't like people knowing where you live," he said once.
I blinked. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to."
I laughed nervously. "You're really observant."
He smiled faintly. "I like knowing where you feel safe."
That word echoed in my mind long after he left.
Safe.
At home, I found myself waiting for his messages. When my phone buzzed, my heart jumped before my brain caught up. He never texted too much. Never double-texted. Just enough to remind me he was there.
Did you get home okay?
Did you eat?
Tell me when you're asleep.
The last one made me pause.
Why? I typed, then erased it.
Okay, I sent instead.
I told myself it was sweet. Thoughtful. Caring.
I told myself a lot of things.
At school, Elias grew subtly more present. He didn't like when people stood too close to me. He didn't say anything, just stepped between us naturally, like it was instinct. When a boy from my class complimented my hair, Elias' hand tightened briefly around his backpack strap.
"Does that happen often?" he asked later, his voice too calm.
"No," I said. "It was nothing."
He studied my face. "If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me."
"I can handle myself," I replied.
"I know," he said. "I just want to be aware."
Awareness. Protection. Care.
They all sounded the same in my head.
By the end of the week, I realized something that should have frightened me more than it did.
I felt uneasy when Elias wasn't around.
The hallways felt louder. The spaces felt bigger. The silence felt heavier.
And when he was there, everything quieted.
I didn't know when needing him started to feel normal.
I only knew that it did.