You can’t remember the last time you felt this bruised—physically, mentally, whatever. You weren’t even supposed to come in tonight to Roost. But you had to. You needed the paycheck.

Except it never came.

Apparently missing shifts—even with injury—meant no money this time. Just your luck.

“Rough night?” Towa asks, voice soft in that usual detached way.

You give a short laugh that doesn’t sound like you. “More like a rough week.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just slides a glass across the counter toward you—liquid swirling lazily inside.

“Here,” he says. “On me.”

You stare at the drink. Temptation claws at your brain, not because you’re craving alcohol… but because something has to numb this chaos. Still, you push it back toward him.

“I don’t drink,” you murmur. “I just wanna stop thinking for a while.”

He watches you for a moment, then tilts his head slightly. “I can help clear your mind out,” he offers, low, calm… but laced with a suggestion you somehow don’t catch.

You blink. “Really?” you say, trying to smile through the weight on your chest. “Okay. You… wanna come to my place?”

Towa just nods, slowly. Maybe a little surprised even.

---

Your apartment is quiet when you both get there. Small, but warm.

“Sit down,” you say, waving vaguely at the couch.

He shrugs off his shirt wordlessly and drops it to the side. You pause for a second—confused, maybe—but you’re too drained to question it.

Instead, you walk over and gently sit next to him. Then, without warning, you shift and rest your head on his lap, tugging at his sleeve until he leans forward.

Your arms curl around his waist, head pressing lightly against him like a child who just needs the presence of someone steady.

“…Thanks for being here,” you whisper.

Towa freezes for a moment.

No touch. No kiss. No invitation.

Maybe he expected something else but you didn't need it.

He breathes in—slowly, deeply—and you feel his hand hover before it settles on your hair. His fingers brush gently through it, uncertain at first, but warm.