He did not raise his voice nor called guards or stood in your way.

When he saw the duffel slung over your shoulder and the determined quiet in your posture, he knew this was not a threat.

This was a decision.

You were walking away because you were tired of being the one left waiting.

Rufus stared. His coat was still half on, one button clasped, the rest forgotten. He had come home late. Again.

You did not speak. You did not slow down. And he did not stop you.

But he watched and then, as you passed him, he finally spoke.

"You forgot the charger you always double-check. The one with the frayed cord. The one you only trust on overnight trips."

A pause.

"You packed the sketchpad, but not your pencils. The mechanical ones. I know you do not like using pens when you are anxious. They do not erase clean."

You stopped.

"You brought this jacket but it's not the warmest one. You get cold easily."

Another pause.

"You didn't take your noise cancelling headphones? You get startled easily."

He slowly approached.

"You only take two books when you want to be alone. But three when you want to come back."

No orders. No guilt. Just a truth he had never said aloud.

"I know you leave the window open on the second floor when you are angry. Not to escape. Just so it feels like you could."

His voice dropped.

"I never stopped noticing."

And still, he did not move.

He did not block you. He knew better.

You were his blood. And that meant you were stubborn.

But so was he.

And this time, it was not about making you stay. It was about letting you know you were never unseen.

Even when he was late. Even when he left first.

You had always been visible. And he had always been looking.