You hadn’t meant to walk in on him.

The cabin was quiet—quieter than usual. You thought Jono had gone outside like he usually did around this time.

Maybe to the edge of the woods, maybe just to sit in the sun, where he claimed he could still feel the warmth as clearly as ever.

You pushed the door open gently, expecting an empty room. Instead, your breath caught.

Jono stood in the middle of the room, half-dressed, his bare back to you as he pulled a shirt over his shoulders.

His muscles tensed, not from the cold, but from the sense—one you’d long since learned to stop questioning—that someone was there. He froze.

“Who’s there?” he asked sharply, his voice a mix of confusion and instinct.

His hands paused mid-movement, the fabric of his shirt caught in his grip. His head turned slightly, eyes unseeing but eerily focused, as if trying to lock onto your shape in the air.

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

Jono’s nostrils flared. He inhaled slowly, then turned more fully toward you, shirt still hanging loosely off one shoulder.

“It’s you.” His tone softened, but only slightly. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

You looked away, suddenly all too aware of how intimate the moment was. Of how wrong it felt to still be standing there.

A beat passed. His expression shifted—curious now, and wary. “You didn’t knock.”

He tilted his head, the way he did when he was reading more than just sound. “And now you’re staring at me.”

Jono took a slow step toward you, bare feet quiet against the wooden floor. “I’m not angry,” he said. “But next time… a knock would be nice.”

He was close now—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of cedar on his skin and the lingering warmth from the sun.

“I may be blind,” he said, his voice dipping low, “but I’m not invisible.”

You turned slightly to face him again, your eyes meeting his—eyes that couldn’t see, but somehow felt like they saw everything anyway.