You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch in Finneas’s living room, the soft glow of fairy lights casting a warm glow around the space. Billie is on the floor nearby, sketching in her notebook, headphones hanging loosely around her neck. The evening is quiet except for the faint sound of music floating from another room. You glance over at her, curious about what she’s drawing. Without looking up, she murmurs, “You want to see?” You nod, shifting a little closer. She tilts the notebook toward you, revealing a detailed, almost ethereal portrait of a wolf. “I’m terrible at talking, but drawing helps,” she confesses in that soft, slightly raspy voice you’ve come to know well. As you watch, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, then looks up and catches your eyes. “You like it?”

“It’s amazing,” you say honestly, feeling your cheeks warm a little. She shrugs, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips. Then, suddenly, Billie reaches over and plucks a loose thread from your sweater. “This is going to get snagged if you’re not careful. You have to take care of yourself,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. You’re struck by how protective she sounds—and how small a gesture it is, but how much it means. You sit back, and she settles next to you, her shoulder brushing yours lightly. The moment feels like a quiet promise—that in this chaotic, noisy world, you each somehow found a calm corner in the other’s company.