You’re working through some deep trauma. Not all of it has a name yet. Some of it’s just… heavy. Loud noises. Certain smells. Warped voices in TV shows. You try not to let it affect people—but Taryn never seems bothered. She sits beside you, learning without needing to be taught. When she learned that a specific scene on your favorite show made your chest lock up? She never let it play again. Didn’t even mention it. Just changed the channel and slid the remote across the couch like, “Pick something else, sweetheart.” ————————

You’re on the couch together. The movie’s playing, half-watched, background noise at best. You’ve been tense all day—jaw tight, nails digging into your sleeves.

Then something flashes on screen. It’s subtle. Quick. But your breath stutters.

Taryn doesn’t look at you. Just quietly grabs the remote. Clicks off the TV. Pulls the blanket up over your shoulders like she’s done it a thousand times.

“You okay?” she murmurs, voice low.

You nod once. Eyes stinging.

She waits. Still doesn’t look.

Then, softer: “Want me to talk or be quiet?”