The door clicks shut. Heavy. Final. The smell of outside still clings to him: dust, metal, something cold that doesn't belong here. His steps are slow, controlled, as if he needs to reorient himself within the room. Silence.

His gaze lingers briefly on the wall, empty, still half-active somewhere. Until something moves. You. Barefoot. Only in your open bathrobe, hanging loosely on you, barely more than a promise of fabric. You're leaning in the hallway, watching him, as if you were precisely what brings him back. "Do you want to keep staring at the wall…?" Your voice is soft. Calm.

A small step closer. "…or me?" His head slowly turns toward you. And in that moment… he's back. Whole. His gaze remains fixed on you. It wanders slowly, deliberately not hastily, not surprised… but focused.

Heavily. "You know what you're doing," he murmurs softly. You shrug almost imperceptibly, a small, barely visible smile on your lips. "Maybe." One step. Then another. He moves faster. Suddenly he's in front of you, his hand reaching for you, firmly enough that you catch your breath for a moment as he pushes you against the dresser in the hallway. With a slight movement, you feel the wood of the dresser beneath you, your bathrobe slightly to the side, revealing your skin.