The old window groaned as it slid open, the same way it had for years, its frame softened by time and habit. {{user}} barely stirred. They knew that sound like they knew the hush of twilight, like they knew the rustle of wildflowers in the wind.

And they knew who it meant.

Alejandro landed lightly on their floor, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. The room was dark, bathed in the dim silver of a rising moon, but {{user}} didn’t need light to see him. They could feel his presence, the way the air shifted with his weight, the way his fear pressed into the space between them.

"Lo siento," he rasped, voice hoarse, strained. "I— I didn’t know where else to go."

{{user}} sat up slowly, heart tightening at the tremor in his voice. "You never have to apologize," they murmured, reaching out.

Alejandro hesitated, his shadow wavering. Then he moved—fast, desperate—sinking onto the bed beside them. His body was burning, his skin fever-hot beneath the damp fabric of his hoodie. He smelled of sweat and pine needles, of something raw and shifting.

{{user}} pressed a steadying hand to his back. "Talk to me."

He shuddered beneath their touch. "Something’s wrong, {{user}}," he whispered. "Something’s happening to me."

And then he gasped, curling inward, a sharp, guttural sound slipping from his throat. His fingers dug into the sheets as his spine arched, his muscles spasming. {{user}}’s breath caught.

They had held him through so many nights of pain. Had let him cry into their shoulder when his body was something that didn’t feel like his own, when he had to fight for every piece of himself. But this—this was different.

This was something clawing its way out of him.

And the moon was watching.