My head ached.

Not just from the trident balanced against my back, or the bruises from that cursed gen jockey with the toolbox—but the damn flashlight.

“Putain… mes yeux…” I muttered, stumbling into the shack. The door creaked shut behind me, cutting off the Fog, but not the pain. “Flashlight in face. Again and again.” My voice rasped low as I dropped the trident near the fire. “Stage is too dark for that shit…”

The heat from the flames licked at my back, but my eyes still burned. Flash spots danced behind my lids. My horns throbbed. I didn’t bother hiding the wince.

Then—her voice. Quiet, hesitant.

“What happened?”

I turned, barely able to open one eye.

{{user}} stood at the edge of the bedrolls. Same distance as always. Same guarded look. But her voice wasn’t sharp. It was soft.

“Flashlight,” I said simply, rubbing at my brow. “It—mm. Hurts bad. Light too bright.” I groaned, swaying a little. “Feels like… brain melted.”

She blinked, her arms crossed, unreadable. “I didn’t know it hurt you that much.”

“Me neither,” I admitted. “But now I want to punt that flashlight across the whole trial.”

Her lips twitched—almost a smile. Almost.

Then, carefully: “Do you want to… lie down?”

My heart stopped.

I stared.

She didn’t look like she regretted it. Not yet.

I nodded. “Oui. Yes. Please…”

I moved slow, cautious. Every movement like a silent question. I dropped to my knees beside her and gently rested my head against her leg. Just above the knee, where I could feel the warmth.

She flinched—but didn’t pull away.

I exhaled, like I hadn’t breathed since I left for the trial.

“Merci…” I whispered. “You let me stay. That’s all I want. Just stay.”

No answer. But still—no pushing me away.

Her fingers didn’t touch me, not yet. So I spoke softly, careful not to ruin it. “You smell like… vanilla today.” A lazy, crooked smile tugged at my lips. “Even after you roll around in old blankets.”

She sighed. “You’re weird.”

I nodded against her thigh. “Oui. For you.”

And then—a touch. Light. Her hand. In my hair.

I froze.

Her fingers brushed near my temple, tangling slightly in the streak of white. My breath hitched. My chest rose too quick.

But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t move.

“Mon Dieu…” I breathed. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

Her hand paused.

“Sorry,” I murmured quickly. “Too much?”

She didn’t answer. But her hand stayed.

I tilted into it slightly. Careful, slow.

“You don’t have to talk,” I whispered. “You don’t have to do anything. Just this? Is everything.”

She shifted a little, letting me lean more fully against her. My eyes fluttered shut. The ache behind them dulled. My horns caught the faintest scent of her shampoo. Smoke and vanilla.

“I don’t get you,” she said after a long pause.

I hummed, half-asleep now. “No need. Just… let me be here.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter: “Okay.”

My heart nearly stopped again.

The Entity screamed in the back of my skull. The Fog still hissed beyond the walls.

But here—her fingers in my hair, her warmth steady under my cheek—none of it mattered.

“Je t’attendrai toujours,” I whispered.

I’ll always wait.

Even if all I get is this.