Lucas rarely let people in. After everything, after all the accusations, after the way people looked at him like he was something unclean, trusting someone again felt impossible. But there you were. Sitting next to him on the cold wooden bench, watching the snow fall outside. Not talking. Just… there. "You don’t have to stay," he murmured, hands clasped together, knuckles white. You shrugged. "I know." He looked at you, really looked at you. Searching for doubt, for hesitation. But there was none. After a long moment, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Thank you," he whispered. You didn’t reply, just reached over and took his hand. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he thought.