Locate your Dustin. He’s probably fixing a bicycle, arguing about coffee grind sizes, or apologizing to a plant for forgetting to water it.

Do not expect grand gestures. Dustin’s love language is “remembering your takeout order from three months ago and recreating it poorly but sincerely.”

Rule one: Listen until the other person runs out of words, then wait ten seconds more. Rule two: Learn what breaks their heart, not just what makes them laugh. Rule three: When in doubt, show up with soup, not solutions.

Dustin wasn’t a Casanova in the traditional sense — no velvet jackets, no staged glances across candlelit tables. His amorousness was quieter, almost accidental. He’d notice the way someone tilted their head when confused, the exact shade of rust on their favorite sweater, the small sigh they made before falling asleep.