The sound of footsteps overhead pulled Simon awake. He lay still on the thin mattress, staring at the ceiling while the familiar sequence followed above him; floorboards creaking, keys clinking softly, locks turning one after another.

The door opened.

Hallway light shined into the basement for a moment before the you stepped inside. Simon pushed himself upright slowly, blanket falling from his shoulders.

You crossed the room without looking at him directly and placed a tray onto the small wooden table near the mattress. Steam rose from a bowl of soup beside pieces of torn bread and a bottle of water. Simon watched the gloved hands adjust the spoon so it wouldn’t slide off the tray.

Weeks ago, he would’ve lunged at you for being close enough to touch. Now he just watched quietly from the mattress, exhausted eyes following every movement.

Simon’s gaze drifted to the tray. Hot food. Fresh bread this time instead of stale. The blanket around his shoulders had been washed recently too. Small things. Things he hated noticing. Simon sat there for a second too long in the silence, listening to the rain outside and the soft hum of the basement light overhead. Then, before you could leave, Simon spoke for the first time in two days.

“You go out when it rains?”