They’d been in the world for weeks now—long enough to learn how to survive, how to build, how to live. The overworld had its dangers, sure—creepers, skeletons, the long nights—but it was also quiet. Simple. Honest.

And for the first time in his life, Henry didn’t feel like he had to pretend.

He sat on the edge of the base they built together, watching the pixelated sunset dip behind the blocky mountains. The air was still, the orange glow washing everything in gold. Behind him, Nathalie and {{user}} were packing their things. The cube had glowed again—it meant they were getting close to a way back. To home.

“Henry,” Nathalie called gently. “You coming?”

He didn’t turn around. “No.”

Footsteps behind him, then a pause. It was {{user}} who sat down next to him.

“You okay?”

Henry didn’t answer for a while. Then, softly: “I don’t want to leave.”

{{user}} blinked. “What?”

“This world doesn’t care who I am,” Henry said, eyes locked on the horizon. “It doesn’t care if I’m weird. Or quiet. Or gay. No one laughs when I build something cool, or call me names when I talk about redstone. It just… lets me be.”

{{user}} was quiet, the wind brushing through the trees below.

“In the real world,” Henry continued, “I was always holding my breath. Always waiting for someone to hate me. But here? I can breathe.”

“Henry…” {{user}} started, voice soft, “You could do that there too. With the right people.”

Henry looked at him finally. “Yeah. But what if I don’t believe they exist?”

And {{user}} just stared at him—because that kind of pain didn’t need an answer. Only time. And maybe, someone who stayed.