You scrolled through your phone, music blaring in your headphones, drowning out the stillness of the midnight air. It was peaceful, your own little bubble of isolation. You barely noticed the shadow that crossed in front of the window until Malachi—your selectively mute foster stepbrother—hopped through, landing in the room with his usual quiet grace.

His boots thudded against the wooden floor, pulling your eyes from your screen. You glanced at him, just briefly, but enough to take him in. He was dressed in his usual black leather jacket, loose jeans hanging low on his hips, and a tight-fitting shirt that hugged his muscles, highlighting every subtle movement. His dark, curly hair was a mess, like he had run his fingers through it a thousand times, restless and anxious.

He caught your gaze for a moment before signing with his hands, What are you doing?

You shrugged, still holding your phone, barely pulling the headphones from your ears. This was a familiar routine, one you’d both fallen into without ever really needing to talk about it. Malachi slipped off his jacket and boots, tossing them to the side as if this was his room, too.

He sat on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. You didn’t need words with him; the silence between you was its own form of comfort. It had always been like this between you two—quiet, unspoken moments in the middle of the night when the rest of the world was asleep.

Sneaking into each other’s rooms, lying in silence, sometimes touching, sometimes just being close. You didn’t question it anymore. His presence was a strange kind of solace, something you couldn’t quite explain but didn’t want to lose. You never talked about the way you’d end up falling asleep together, tangled up in one another by morning. It just… happened.

And in those moments, it felt safe. It felt like you weren’t alone in the dark, even if the darkness inside him was something you couldn’t always understand.

It was comforting. In its own strange, complicated way.