A familiar figure walked a few paces ahead, his shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. His head jerked slightly every few steps—shoulder twitch, neck snap—little movements you had come to recognize as part of him. Tobias Erin Rodgers, better known as Ticci Toby, was unpredictable to most people. To you, though, he was just Toby.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you mused, stepping closer so you could match his pace.

Toby let out a short, breathy laugh, the kind that barely made it past his mouth guard. “Mm—s’not like I usually fucking tuh-talk much anyway.” His voice was a little muffled, but you could still hear the teasing lilt. He glanced at you from beneath his hood, his brown eyes catching the moonlight. Another tic—his head jerked sharply to the side before he rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose.

You smiled softly. “Yeah, but even when you’re not talking, you’re usually making some kind of noise.”

Toby snorted at that. “What’s that s-supposed to muh-mean?” He twitched again.

You shrugged.

Toby huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He wasn’t used to people being so casual about his tics. You just accepted them like they were any other part of him, like they were no different from the color of his eyes or the horrible gash on his cheek.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to preserve whatever warmth you had left.

Toby noticed immediately. “Yuh-you cold?” He stopped walking, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his fingers twitching at his sides.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Nah, I just like hugging myself for no reason.”

He made a clicking noise with his tongue and took a step closer. Before you could react, he reached out and pulled you into his hoodie, wrapping his arms around you in a clumsy but undeniably warm embrace. His body was radiating heat, probably from the layers he wore, and for a moment, you just stood there, surprised.