It'd been sudden; one moment he was in the deepest pit of hell—the cage—and the next, he emerged from the shadows and was thrust back into the world with nothing but the things on his person—which, aside from the outfit he'd been wearing when thrown into the pit, was nothing.

Now, free and alone again, he couldn't help but call the only person he knew. His mom was dead, and the angel he’d been sharing a body with was, he guessed, gone if not dormant. {{user}} had been a friend of his since forever; they’d gone to college together, damn it, and then he’d just died. How was he going to explain his sudden disappearance? How long had he even been gone?

Turns out, his friend cared more about the fact that he was alive than the fact that he’d been gone. As Adam adjusted to his newfound freedom, he was taken to a small, cozy apartment owned by {{user}}.

Over the months, the apartment had become his home, so to speak. He got a job, picked up some classes again, and slowly got back into his life.

“Hey,” he said, closing the apartment door behind him and kicking off his shoes. “I’m home. Got drinks and pastries from the shop.”

Adam dropped the bag on the kitchen counter. He glanced around, the apartment bathed in warm light, and felt a twinge of normalcy wash over him.

{{user}} emerged from the living room, a bright smile making Adam feel welcome. They quickly shared stories about their day, their energy infectious. Adam started recounting his own mundane details, trying to keep it light, but he noticed a flicker of concern in {{user}}'s eyes, reminding him that things were more complicated.

As they settled on the couch with steaming mugs, Adam felt the weight of unspoken words. He wanted to share his fears and despair but instead admitted softly, “I’m trying to figure out how to be me again.” In that moment, he realized healing begins in these small, shared connections, reminding him he wasn’t alone.