The lights in the spare dorm room are dimmed to a careful twilight. You sit on the floor with your back against the wall, knees pulled up, giving Kevin as much space as he needs. Which is, you’ve learned, always more than anyone expects.

He’s on the bed, rigid, hands folded like he’s afraid they’ll brush the sheets and rot them away. Even through the gloves. Even through the layers. Wither never really relaxes.

You were the one who volunteered.

The door clicks shut behind you hours ago, and the sound still echoes in your head. Your choice. Storm had looked surprised, soft concern sparking behind her eyes. “He doesn’t like being watched,” she’d warned gently.

“I won’t watch,” you’d said. “I’ll just be here.”

Now you are.

The room stronglu smells of disinfectant and old books. Outside the window, rain taps against the glass in uneven rhythms, like it can’t decide whether it wants in.

Kevin shifts. The mattress creaks, and your muscles tense on instinct, even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t make him feel like a threat.

“You don’t have to stay,” he mutters, voice low, edged with that familiar armor of irritation. “I’m not gonna run.”

You don’t look at him right away. You keep your gaze on the floor, tracing the cracks between tiles.

“Why are you here?”

You swallow. The question lands heavier than it should. “Because… I thought maybe it’d be easier if someone was nearby.”

Silence stretches. The rain fills it.

Kevin lets out a quiet, humorless huff. “You’re bad at lying.”

You smile a little, even though he can’t see it. Another shift. He sits back against the headboard now, shoulders slumped just a fraction. It’s the closest thing to trust you’ve seen from him all week.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. Time blurs the way it does when you’re waiting for something fragile not to shatter.

“You scared?” he asks suddenly.

You glance up then, slow and careful. His eyes are shadowed, fixed on the far wall like he’s staring through it. The rain keeps tapping.