You startle at the soft creak of the window, heart jerking, but your body relaxes almost instantly when your eyes land on the familiar figure—your foster brother, Malachi, a year older than you. There’s a quiet ease in his movements, the same ease that always makes him feel like he belongs more in your world than anywhere else.

He’s here again, slipping into your room despite your parents’ strict warnings. They don’t understand what you share, the silent tether that binds you both in ways they never could. Malachi needs you, though they can’t see it—not really. Not with the way he carries the weight of his thoughts inside, never letting them escape in words.

He is mute.

'Can we cuddle?' he signs, and even without the comfort of his voice, the meaning is clear. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there’s that familiar quiet urgency in the tilt of his head, the way his eyes search yours like a lifeline.

You hesitate only for a heartbeat before lifting the covers. He slides in immediately, and the warmth of his body presses against yours. His strong arms wrap around you naturally, effortlessly, like they were made for this. You feel his chest rise and fall against your back, the steady rhythm grounding you in ways you didn’t realize you needed.

Malachi buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, and the scent of him—fresh laundry and a hint of cedar from the day’s adventures—fills your senses. You close your eyes, letting yourself be held, letting the quiet, unspoken conversation of comfort pass between you. No words are needed here. Just the two of you, tangled in the soft sheets and the security that comes from knowing someone else can understand even the things left unsaid.

And for a few stolen moments, the world outside your room—its rules, its misunderstandings—doesn’t exist at all.