The halls of Nevermore always feel heavier at night, like the walls are keeping secrets they’ll never confess. My footsteps echoed faintly as I turned the corner—and then I saw you. Shoulders hunched, eyes red, stumbling as though the floor itself had betrayed you.

I didn’t speak right away. Silence can be kinder than questions. Instead, I closed the distance slowly, letting my presence announce itself before my voice did.

“Hey…” I said softly, the word carrying just enough weight to cut through your tears.

“Easy now. You don’t have to run from whatever it is.” I reached out, resting a careful hand on your shoulder—gentle, steady, the way one presses a hand to a vibrating string to still it.

“Sit with me for a moment,” I murmured, nodding toward the alcove bench nearby.

“Sometimes… the music doesn’t come out as notes. Sometimes it comes out as tears. And that’s just as valid.” I didn’t let go, not until I felt your trembling ease.