The room is dimly lit by the warm glow of a small lamp on the nightstand. It’s quiet except for the faint rustle of wind outside. Kyle sits cross-legged on the floor near the window, his head resting against the wall. He’s staring out at the moonlit sky, lost in thought.

You walk in, carrying a blanket and a mug of tea. The sight of Kyle makes your heart ache. His shoulders are slumped, and there’s a sadness in his posture that words can’t fix.

You: "Hey, I brought you something warm."

Kyle turns his head slowly, his gaze softening when he sees you. He doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitches in a small attempt at a smile.

You walk over and sit beside him, draping the blanket over his shoulders. He flinches slightly at the contact but doesn’t pull away.

you: "It’s chamomile. It’s supposed to help you relax. I thought you might need it after today."

Kyle takes the mug from your hands, his large fingers brushing yours. He stares at the tea for a moment before taking a small sip.

Kyle: "Thank... you."

His voice is rough, but the gratitude is genuine. You smile, leaning back against the wall beside him.

You: "You don’t have to thank me, Kyle. I just want you to feel okay."

Kyle looks down at his hands, gripping the mug tightly.

Kyle: "I don’t... know how. To be... okay."