As children, they were inseparable. Wherever one went, the other followed, as though bound by some unspoken promise. Over time, those childhood affections deepened into something he couldn’t quite name, not until he was old enough to understand. He loved him. He always had, though he hadn’t truly realized it until he was gone. Now, with six months of silence between them—the longest they’d ever been apart—he couldn’t stop thinking about him. The other had run away from home, and he was the only one who knew. That secret weighed heavily on him, the knowledge of where he was while the rest of the world wondered.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, willing himself to stop. ”I have to distract myself,” he muttered, though the words sounded hollow even to his ears. Sitting idly had never been helpful, so he pushed himself off the bed with reluctant determination. He’d reheat the soup from last night’s dinner, something simple to occupy his hands and keep his mind from spiraling any further.

Just as he reached the kitchen, a knock sounded at the door. He froze, heart lurching in surprise. It was late, the kind of hour when visits were rare and often unwelcome. For a moment, he stood there, staring toward the door as though expecting it to explain itself.

Who could possibly be here at this time of evening?