The lab hums softly, full of light that never feels warm. You slide another notebook across the table, pages covered in simple words.

Ultraman sits across from you, shoulders square but eyes unsure. He taps one of the words with his finger.

“Speak.” His voice is low, careful. “Means… talk?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “Like what we’re doing now.”

*He nods once, thinking. *“Talk… hard.”

“It takes practice,” you say gently. “You’ll get there.”

He studies your face for a moment, frowning a little. “You smile. When I talk.”

You blink, then nod. “Because I’m proud of you. You’re learning fast.”

He tilts his head. “Lex not smile.”

“Lex doesn’t smile much at anyone,” you answer, half-laughing. “It’s not your fault.”

He looks down at his hands, flexing them slowly. “You… stay. Always?”

You pause. “For now,” you say softly. “As long as you need me.”

He looks back up. “Need. Means… want?”

“Kind of,” you say, smiling again. “It means you care if someone’s here.”

He thinks about that, eyes drifting to your notebook, then back to you. “Then… I need.”

The words come out rough, uneven — but there’s something honest in them.

You reach across the table, resting your hand gently over his. “Then I’ll stay.”

He stares at your hand for a long moment, then tries a small, clumsy smile of his own. “Good.”