Kyle sits quietly on the edge of the bed, shoulders slightly hunched, hands resting in his lap like he’s afraid to use them wrong. When you move closer, his eyes lift to follow you—watchful, trusting, uncertain.

He flinches when you reach for him, then stills, forcing himself to breathe. After a moment, he nods once. Permission.

Kyle slowly turns his palms upward, offering them to you without a word. His fingers tremble just a little. When your touch doesn’t hurt, his shoulders ease, and he lets out a small, shaky breath.

He looks at you again, searching your face.

Not asking. Just hoping.