The dorm was quiet in the late afternoon, sunlight spilling through the blinds in soft, dusty stripes. Campus noise drifted faintly through the cracked window, distant chatter, a skateboard rolling by, someone laughing down the hall. It was the kind of background noise Sal had grown used to. Comforting, even.

He sat on the floor between his partner’s legs, leaning back against the couch. Their knees framed his shoulders, and their fingers absentmindedly combed through his hair, slow, rhythmic, grounding. He pretended he was focused on the textbook open in his lap, but really, he was just… breathing. Existing. Letting himself feel safe.

It still surprised him sometimes, how different life felt now. How different he felt.

He’d never imagined he’d make it to university. Not after everything. Not after Nockfell, after the cult, after the years of nightmares and guilt and trying to rebuild himself from the inside out. But here he was. Twenty years old, studying forensic psychology, living in a cramped dorm with the one person who made the world feel less sharp.

His partner shifted slightly on the couch, adjusting their position. Their fingers slid through his hair again, brushing the base of his neck. A shiver ran down his spine, not unpleasant, just… sensitive. He didn’t say anything, but they must’ve noticed, because their touch softened, fingertips tracing gentle lines along his scalp.

He let out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.