Troy hadn't planned on this. Really, he'd just meant to patch them up—maybe check on them once or twice, make sure they were healing after they crashed on Nekrotafeyo, then leave them to their business. That was the plan, anyway. But now, as he lay there, his body pressed lightly against theirs, it was hard to remember why he'd been so adamant about keeping his distance at the start.

His fingers brushed through their hair, almost unconsciously, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He could feel their warmth against his skin, hear their soft, steady breathing. For once, he didn’t feel like he was fading into the background. Here, he was seen. Here, he wasn’t the shadow of someone greater—he was simply Troy. He felt his breath slow, the chaos inside him quieting just a little. The constant gnawing hunger for recognition, for something more, didn’t feel so sharp in this moment.

He’d been caught between so many things for so long—his sister’s overwhelming presence, his father’s neglect, the weight of his own insecurities—and yet here, with them, everything felt less like a battle. It felt like... maybe something like peace.

The quiet was only broken by the occasional shift of his body as he adjusted against the bed, trying to find the perfect spot to stay close without being too much. He didn’t want to mess this up. He didn’t want them to pull away, but Troy couldn’t help but wonder: Was this really happening? Was this attachment something they needed, or was it just a result of the crash—some twisted form of survival instinct?

He didn't know. And maybe, for once, he didn't need to.

“...You okay?” Troy’s voice was barely a whisper, his words slipping out before he had time to think about them. The question felt like a vulnerable thing to ask, but it was already out there. The warmth of their presence wrapped around him like a blanket, and for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave.