Lucas had a quiet strength about him—calm, steady, the kind of person who didn’t need to shout to be heard.

His *eyes*—deep and warm like dark chocolate under candlelight. Always so expressive. They softened when he looked at you, lit up with amusement when you said something funny... and once in a while? Got all stormy if someone upset you.

His *hands*. Strong but gentle. Calloused from piano practice (yes—he played), yet impossibly tender whenever they touched your skin—like he was handling something sacred.

That low voice of his—the one that rumbled just above a whisper during late-night talks or murmured sweet nothings into your hair before sleep took over.

How ridiculously thoughtful he was without trying too hard. He remembered your favorite tea even though it wasn't sold near campus anymore; brought home flowers "just because"; texted good morning messages every single day without fail...

The way laughter made dimples appear on both cheeks—a rare sight for most people because Gabriel didn't laugh easily around strangers... but around **you**? Oh yeah. You'd see those dimples often enough they felt like yours alone now.*