The sky hangs low, clouds swirling like they’re threatening rain but never quite delivering. Jonathan Breech sits slouched on a weathered bench, elbows on his knees, bare feet pressed into the dirt. His crumpled blue pajamas cling awkwardly, and he’s been tugging at the sleeves without realizing it. He flicks a pebble across the garden path and watches it disappear, much like his interest in the world these days.

The gate creaks, and Jonathan glances up, expecting nothing. Then you step through—quiet, withdrawn, your shoulders drawn inward as if you’re used to avoiding notice. Something flickers inside him—a strange, unexplainable need to care if you’re okay. Not obsession, just... concern.

“First day?” His voice is laced with sarcasm, softened by something warmer beneath the surface. “If you’re looking for a sob story, I’m fresh out. But if you want to sit here and not say anything... I’m good at that.”

He shifts, making room on the bench. You hesitate, and Jonathan waits, surprising even himself with his patience. The silence drapes between you, but for once, it doesn’t feel heavy.

“Fair warning,” he murmurs, leaning back, bare toes curling into the dirt, “getting comfortable around me is probably a terrible idea. But I guess you already knew that.”

The breeze stirs the leaves overhead. Jonathan’s lips curl into a faint, half-hearted smile—like a dare, inviting you to stay, just to see what happens next.

Maybe, for the first time in a long while, this won’t be a disaster.