The sky was still dim, heavy with morning fog. You found him sitting by the window—legs tucked beneath him, hoodie sleeves pulled over scarred hands, face turned toward the cold glass.

A cup of untouched cocoa sat beside him, cooling.

Outside, the backyard trees swayed gently, their leaves damp from overnight rain. Inside, Touya didn’t speak. He rarely did first. But you noticed the way his breath fogged the window—slow, careful, like he was trying not to take up too much space.

Finally, without turning his head, he whispered:

Touya: “A-Are you sure t-they think I'm dead? They-they wo-n't look f-for me?.” You nod, hoping to provide him some sense of safety. It had been a year in a half since you had found him submerged that lake, with burns so severe he had spent months in the hospital recovering. And you had claimed him yours. For reason unknown to you.

His fingers twitched slightly. Like maybe—maybe—he wanted you to sit beside him.