The Touch - Rewrite

The first thing I noticed when I woke up wasn’t the pain.

It was the sound.

A cabinet closing softly somewhere down the hall, followed by the faint clink of something being set on the counter. There was a rhythm to it—small, ordinary noises that carried through the house without urgency. The low hum of movement drifted in and out, steady enough that it took me a second to realize what I was hearing.

The kitchen.

I stayed still, listening for a moment longer than I needed to. The house didn’t feel empty. It didn’t feel like something bad was waiting just outside my line of sight, ready to come crashing in the second I moved the wrong way. It just… existed. Quiet. Calm.

That was new.

The pain settled in a moment later as I shifted slightly against the couch. It wasn’t sharp like it had been before—wasn’t the kind that made everything go white and loud—but it was there, heavy and stubborn. My ribs ached when I breathed too deeply, and my back protested even the smallest movement, stiff from staying in the same position too long.

I let out a slow breath and tried to sit up a little, wincing as something pulled along my side. The blanket slipped, bunching awkwardly near my waist, and I reached to fix it, my movements careful, slower than they used to be.

The sounds in the kitchen paused.

Footsteps followed a second later, unhurried and steady as they moved closer. I didn’t have time to decide whether to pretend I was still asleep before Greg stepped into view.

He stopped for half a second when he saw me awake, like he was adjusting to it, before his expression shifted into something easier.

“Well, hey,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I muttered, my voice rough and dry.

He stepped a little closer but didn’t crowd me, stopping near the arm of the couch instead of hovering over me. “How’re you feeling?” he asked, casual, like it was just part of the routine.

“Fine,” I said automatically.

His mouth twitched like he expected that answer and didn’t believe it for a second. “Alright,” he said anyway, letting it go. “We’ll upgrade that answer later.”

I didn’t respond. I just looked down at the blanket again, smoothing out a wrinkle that didn’t need fixing, my fingers moving without really thinking about it.

That was when I noticed it.

It came on slow, like something just out of reach before it finally clicked. A faint smell—nothing strong, nothing obvious—but enough that once I caught it, I couldn’t ignore it. It clung to me in a way that made my stomach twist, settling in the back of my throat as I became painfully aware of my clothes, my skin… how long it had probably been.

Too long.

Heat crept up the back of my neck as I shifted slightly, like that might somehow fix it. It didn’t. If anything, it made me more aware of it, more aware of myself in a way that made me want to just stay still and hope it went away.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening in the blanket.

I could ignore it.

Wait longer.

Not say anything.

That would be easier.

Greg shifted slightly nearby, the quiet creak of the floor pulling my attention back. He didn’t seem to notice anything—just stood there, relaxed, like nothing was wrong.

That somehow made it worse.

“Can I…” My voice caught, and I stopped, staring down at my hands before forcing the words out. “Can I take a bath?”

The question came out quieter than I meant it to.

Greg didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “Of course.”

Then, after the briefest pause, he added, “Starting to get a little ripe over there, huh?”

For a second, I just blinked at him, caught off guard.

Then a small, unexpected sound slipped out of me—a quiet laugh before I could stop it.

It felt weird.

But not bad.

Greg grinned faintly, like that had been the goal all along. “Don’t worry,” he added lightly. “We’ll fix it.”

I ducked my head a little, still holding onto the edge of that feeling, even as the embarrassment lingered underneath it.

“Okay,” I muttered.

“I’ll go get it started,” he said, already turning toward the hallway like it was nothing.

I nodded, even though he wasn’t looking.

The sound of water starting up came a few seconds later, steady and consistent as it filled the space. I listened to it without meaning to, my fingers still fidgeting lightly with the blanket as I waited.

It didn’t take long before the footsteps came back.

Greg stepped into the room again, drying his hands briefly before letting them fall to his sides. “Alright,” he said. “Give it a minute to fill.”

I nodded and tried to push myself up a little more on my own. The moment I shifted, something pulled tight along my ribs, and I sucked in a breath before I could stop it, the pain sharper this time.

Greg noticed immediately.

“Hey—easy,” he said, stepping forward.

His hand came to my shoulder, steady but light, not forcing anything. “We’re not in a rush,” he added, his voice calmer now.

“I can sit up,” I said quietly, even though it didn’t sound convincing.

“Alright,” he replied, just as easily. “Let’s do it together.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t tell me I couldn’t. He just adjusted slightly, giving me something solid to lean against as I pushed myself upright. Every movement pulled at something sore, but he slowed me down when I needed it without making it obvious, letting me feel like I was doing it myself.

Once I was sitting, I stayed there for a second, catching my breath, trying to ignore the way everything still ached.

“How’s it feel today?” he asked again, more casually this time.

I hesitated, then admitted, “Same.”

He nodded once, like that was enough. “Alright. We’ll work with that.”

I glanced down at my hands before forcing out, “I can walk.”

There was a brief pause, just long enough for him to think about it.

Then he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll take it slow.”

He stepped back just enough to give me space to try, but stayed close. I swung my legs carefully over the side of the couch, my feet touching the floor. The ground felt steady, but I didn’t, and I reached out without thinking.

Greg was already there.

His hand closed around my arm, firm enough to keep me upright but not tight enough to hold me in place. “Easy,” he said again, quieter this time.

I nodded, focusing as I pushed myself the rest of the way up. My legs felt weak, unsteady, but they held—barely.

We didn’t rush it. He waited until I found my balance before guiding me forward, one slow step at a time toward the hallway. The pain was still there, pulling with every movement, but it didn’t feel overwhelming—not with him there keeping me steady.

It was slow.

Awkward.

But I didn’t fall.

And for once, I didn’t feel like I was going to be punished just for needing help.

The house felt different once I came back downstairs.

Not in a way I could explain exactly, but something about it had settled after the bath. My skin didn’t feel tight anymore, and the clean clothes Greg had helped me into hung loose but comfortable, the fabric soft in a way I wasn’t used to. Even the air felt different against my skin, like I could actually notice it now instead of trying to ignore everything at once.

The walk back hadn’t been the same.

I’d thought it would be easier.

It wasn’t.

By the time we reached the living room again, my legs felt weaker than they had before, like whatever energy I’d used to get to the bathroom hadn’t come back yet. The ache in my ribs had deepened, settling into something heavier with each step, and my balance felt off in a way that made every movement slower.

“I’ve got you,” Greg said quietly as I hesitated near the couch.

I didn’t argue this time.

His hand steadied me more firmly than before, one arm guiding me as I lowered myself down. It wasn’t just a light assist now—he took more of my weight as I sat, controlling the movement so I didn’t drop too hard or twist the wrong way.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as I sank back into the cushions.

“Easy,” he murmured, adjusting the pillows behind me before pulling the blanket back over my legs. “You pushed a little more than you should’ve.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered automatically, even though my chest still felt tight from the effort.

Greg didn’t call it out. He just gave a small nod like he’d heard it before and stepped back once I was settled, not making a big deal out of the extra help he’d just given me.

“I’m gonna grab something to eat,” he said after a moment. “You want anything?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“You sure?”

Another nod.

“Alright,” he said easily. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you change your mind.”

I watched him walk away, listening as the quiet sounds picked back up again—cabinet doors, the soft rustle of a bread bag, the faint scrape of something against the counter. It was strange how quickly those sounds were starting to feel normal.

I pulled the blanket a little tighter around myself, settling back against the pillows. My body still ached, heavier now than it had before the bath, but it wasn’t overwhelming.

Just… there.

A few minutes later, Greg came back into the room holding a plate. He didn’t make a big deal out of it—just set it down carefully on the table beside me before stepping back like it was nothing.

I glanced at it.

A ham sandwich. Cut in half.

“I said I wasn’t hungry,” I muttered.

“Yeah,” Greg said easily. “I know.”

That was it.

No argument. No push.

I looked at it for a second longer, then looked away.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Not loud. Just a couple of soft taps, polite and controlled.

But it was enough.

My shoulders tensed before I could stop them, and something in my chest tightened as I turned toward the sound. The reaction came too fast, too automatic.

Greg’s footsteps paused for half a second.

“I got it,” he called out, his tone casual.

I stayed still, listening as he crossed the room and opened the door. There was a quiet exchange of voices before one of them became clearer as they stepped inside.

“Good morning, Greg,” a woman said.

Karen.

I recognized her voice immediately.

“Hey, Karen,” Greg replied. “Come on in.”

The door closed behind her, and a second later, she stepped into view.

She looked the same as she had at the hospital—put together, composed—but when her eyes landed on me, something softened. It wasn’t forced. It didn’t feel like she was pretending.

“Hi, Zachary,” she said gently, stepping a little closer. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” I said.

She nodded like she expected that answer and didn’t push it.

“I’m glad to see you up,” she said. “Natalie told me you’ve been making progress.”

I glanced down at the blanket again, my fingers tightening slightly.

Greg moved back into the room, leaning casually against the wall nearby, close enough without stepping in.

Karen’s attention shifted between us briefly before returning to me. “I just wanted to stop by and check in,” she said. “Make sure everything is going okay for you here.”

I nodded. “It is.”

That was true.

Mostly.

“And Greg and Natalie are taking good care of you?”

“Yeah.”

She studied me for a moment, then gave a small, understanding smile. “If there’s ever anything you need, you can tell me. That’s what I’m here for.”

I nodded again.

“Okay.”

My hand moved without really thinking, reaching toward the plate beside me. I picked up one half of the sandwich and hesitated for a second before taking a bite.

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

The taste was simple, but my stomach reacted immediately, tightening and then settling as I chewed. I swallowed quickly, then took another bite, slower this time.

Karen didn’t comment.

Greg didn’t either.

But I could feel that he noticed.

I shifted slightly on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around myself without thinking. My eyes flicked toward Greg for a second before dropping again.

“He’s doing alright,” Greg said, his tone easy but steady. “Taking it one step at a time.”

Karen’s expression softened more at that.

“That’s exactly what I like to hear,” she said gently as she stepped a little closer. “You’ve been through a lot, Zachary. Nobody expects you to bounce back overnight.”

I swallowed, taking another small bite of the sandwich, my grip tightening slightly.

She noticed.

“I want you to hear me clearly, okay?” she said, her voice soft but certain. “You’re not going anywhere.”

My head lifted before I could stop it.

“You’re staying right here with Greg and Natalie,” she continued. “That’s not going to change.”

Something in my chest shifted.

“You’re safe here,” she added more quietly. “And I’m not going to take that away from you.”

I didn’t answer right away. I just nodded, holding the sandwich in my hands, not sure what to do with the weight of her words.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

Karen studied me for a moment, like she understood I wasn’t fully there yet.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” she said gently.

She straightened slightly, glancing toward Greg. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to check in.”

“Appreciate it,” Greg replied.

Karen looked back at me one last time. “I’ll stop by again soon, alright?”

I nodded. “Alright.”

She gave a small smile before turning toward the door. A moment later, it opened and closed behind her.

The house went quiet again.

I sat there for a moment, staring down at the sandwich in my hands, taking another bite without really thinking about it.

Greg pushed himself off the wall and walked back over, stopping near the couch. His eyes flicked down to the sandwich, then back up to me, a small, knowing look settling in.

“Thought you said you weren’t hungry,” he said lightly.

I paused, glancing down at the sandwich like it had betrayed me. For a second, I didn’t answer, then gave a small shrug.

“…wasn’t,” I muttered.

Greg huffed out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll go with that.”

He shifted his attention briefly over the table and the couch, checking things without making it obvious.

“Everything you need within reach?” he asked. “Water, food… you good there?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You need the bathroom before I disappear again?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m okay.”

He held my gaze for a second, then nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Just let me know if you need anything. Doesn’t matter what it is.”

Before stepping away, he picked up the remote and placed it in my hand.

“Here,” he added. “Find something better than staring at the wall.”

I curled my fingers around it automatically. “Okay.”

Greg gave one last glance around the room before heading back toward the kitchen.

The quiet settled in again, softer this time.

I leaned back against the pillows, the TV flickering on as I pressed a button without really thinking. The sound filled the room just enough to push the silence back.

I took another bite of the sandwich, slower now.

Everything felt… steady.

Not perfect.

Not completely safe.

But steady enough that I wasn’t bracing for something to go wrong every second.

The smell reached me before anything else.

It drifted out from the kitchen slowly, filling the space in a way that made everything feel warmer without trying. It wasn’t anything complicated—just pasta, something with sauce and bread—but it carried through the house and settled into the room like it belonged there. It was the kind of smell that made you aware of being hungry even if you hadn’t noticed it before.

My stomach tightened faintly in response, quieter than earlier, but still there.

I shifted on the couch, adjusting the blanket over my legs as I listened to the sounds that followed—containers opening, the soft clink of utensils, the low murmur of voices blending together just out of sight. It didn’t feel distant. It felt close, like I was already part of it even though I hadn’t moved yet.

“…you didn’t have to grab all that,” Greg was saying.

“It was easier,” Natalie replied, her voice tired but steady. “And I wasn’t about to cook after that shift.”

There was a pause, followed by the heavier sound of something being set down on the counter.

“It was bad?” Greg asked.

“Bus accident downtown,” she said. “Multiple injuries. We were packed all afternoon.”

Her tone didn’t waver, but there was something underneath it—fatigue more than anything else.

A few seconds later, Greg stepped into the living room and glanced toward me, his expression shifting slightly when he saw I was already watching him.

“Think you’re up for the table?” he asked, like it was a normal question, not a test.

I hesitated for just a second.

Then I nodded.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t move in right away. Just gave a small nod and stepped back instead, giving me space to try it on my own.

I pushed the blanket off slowly and leaned forward, bracing my hands against the couch as I stood. The movement pulled tight along my ribs, sharper than I expected, and for a second I had to pause, letting it settle before I went any further. My legs felt unsteady once I was upright, not quite unreliable, but not strong enough to trust without thinking about it.

Greg shifted with me, close enough that I could feel him there without actually touching me. He didn’t say anything, didn’t reach out—just stayed within range.

I took a step.

Then another.

My hand reached out instinctively, gripping the back of the nearest chair as I steadied myself. The wood felt solid under my fingers, something dependable, and I held onto it a second longer than I needed to before moving again. Each step came slower than the last, each one deliberate, my hand finding the next chair as I worked my way toward the table.

Greg stayed just behind me the entire time, matching my pace without crowding me. He didn’t rush, didn’t hover—just moved when I moved, stopping when I stopped.

By the time I reached the table, my legs felt heavier than they should have, and my breathing had picked up slightly, but I hadn’t stopped.

I hadn’t needed him to catch me.

I pulled out the chair carefully and lowered myself into it, wincing as I sat but managing it on my own. The relief of being off my feet came quickly, settling into my muscles in a way that made me realize how much effort that short walk had actually taken.

Greg noticed.

“Not bad,” he said lightly as he moved to his own seat, like it wasn’t a big deal but still worth saying.

I didn’t respond, but something in my chest eased just a little.

Natalie stepped into the room a moment later, carrying the food. She paused when she saw me already at the table, something warm flickering across her face before she set everything down.

“Look at you,” she said gently.

I shrugged, reaching for my fork.

She didn’t push it, didn’t make it into anything more than it was. She just sat down across from me, settling into her chair as naturally as if this had always been how things worked.

For a few minutes, the only sound was eating.

The pasta was warm, the sauce rich enough that it didn’t taste like anything I’d had in a long time. I started slow, more aware of them than the food itself, but that didn’t last. My stomach made the decision for me, and before I realized it, I was taking another bite, then another, falling into a rhythm without thinking about it.

“So,” Natalie said after a while, glancing between Greg and me, “how was your day?”

Greg leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm resting along the back. “Pretty quiet,” he said. “Karen stopped by for a bit.”

Natalie nodded. “Yeah, she came by the hospital too. Caught me between patients.”

“She say anything interesting?” Greg asked.

“She wants updates,” Natalie replied, absently twirling her fork through her pasta. “On how he’s doing. Progress, adjustments… all of it.”

Her eyes flicked toward me briefly, softening before she looked back down again.

“She mentioned that once he’s fully recovered, we might be able to take another placement,” she added.

Greg let out a short breath, shaking his head. “Good thing it’s way too early for that,” he said.

Natalie huffed out a quiet laugh. “That’s what I told her.”

The conversation settled for a moment after that, not awkward, just quiet in a way that felt normal. I kept eating, slower now, listening more than anything.

After a second, Natalie looked back over at me.

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently.

I paused, my fork hovering slightly as I actually thought about it this time.

“Okay,” I said finally. “My head still hurts a little. And I feel… kinda weak.”

I shifted slightly in the chair, feeling the pull again along my ribs.

“And there’s still some aches,” I added. “Like… everywhere.”

The words felt strange.

Honest.

Greg leaned back a little further, watching me for a second before letting out a quiet breath. “You know,” he said, “I usually just get ‘I’m fine.’”

I blinked at him.

He gave a small shrug, a faint grin pulling at his mouth. “This is an upgrade.”

A small smile slipped out before I could stop it.

Natalie’s expression warmed. “I like this version better,” she said.

I shrugged again, looking back down at my plate. “You asked.”

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

The moment passed easily, not heavy, not awkward.

“If tomorrow goes well,” Greg said after a moment, shifting slightly in his seat, “we might try moving you upstairs the day after that.”

I looked up.

“Upstairs?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Your room.”

I blinked.

“I have my own room?”

The words came out before I could stop them.

Greg frowned slightly at first, caught off guard. “Of course you have your own room,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you?”

The question hung there for a second.

I didn’t answer.

My eyes dropped to my plate instead, my fingers tightening slightly around my fork as something settled uncomfortably in my chest. I shook my head quickly, like I could brush it off before it turned into something else.

“Never mind,” I muttered. “That was stupid.”

Greg caught it immediately—the shift, the way I looked down, the way my shoulders pulled in just a little. His expression changed just as quickly, the confusion fading into something more understanding.

“Hey… no,” he said quietly, leaning forward slightly. “I’m sorry.”

I hesitated, glancing up just a little.

“I didn’t think about that,” he continued, his voice steady but softer now. “I forgot… things haven’t exactly been normal for you.”

The words weren’t heavy.

Just honest.

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I looked back down again, my grip loosening slightly around my fork.

Natalie shifted gently in her seat, her tone warm as she stepped in. “We’re all still learning about each other,” she said.

I glanced up at her.

“There are going to be things that feel new,” she continued. “For all of us.”

She didn’t push it further, didn’t expect anything from me.

“We’ll figure them out together.”

Something in my chest shifted again, quieter this time. Not gone.

Just… different.

I didn’t say anything.

I just nodded once and looked back down at my plate, taking another bite even though I wasn’t as hungry anymore.

The conversation faded after that, settling into something quieter. Not empty—just steady in a way that didn’t need to be filled right away. Greg leaned back in his chair again, Natalie finishing the last of her food as the tension from earlier softened into something more comfortable.

I stayed where I was, listening more than anything—the small sounds of forks against plates, the quiet rhythm of breathing, the way the house seemed to hold all of it without breaking.

It still felt unfamiliar.

But not in a way that made me want to pull away.

Just… different.

Morning came quietly.

Not all at once, not in a way that forced me awake, but slowly—light filtering in through the windows, the house shifting around me in small, distant sounds that didn’t demand anything. I opened my eyes and stayed where I was for a while, staring up at the ceiling as everything settled back into place.

The soreness was still there.

It hadn’t gone anywhere overnight, sitting heavy in my ribs and shoulders, but it felt different now. Not as sharp. Not as overwhelming. When I shifted slightly, testing it, the pain followed—but it didn’t stop me the way it had before.

That alone felt like something.

By the time I pushed myself up, the house was already moving. I could hear Greg in the kitchen, the quiet rhythm of cabinets opening and closing, something being set on the counter. It was steady, predictable.

Normal.

“Morning.”

I looked over as Greg stepped into the room, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it over his shoulder. His eyes flicked over me quickly, taking in the fact that I was sitting up already.

“Well,” he added, “look at that.”

I frowned slightly. “What?”

“Didn’t need help sitting up,” he said. “We’re making progress.”

I shrugged, even though something about that made my chest feel a little lighter.

The morning moved slowly after that.

Greg made sure I took my meds, watching just long enough to be certain before stepping back again like he wasn’t hovering. Breakfast was simple, and I stayed on the couch for it this time, not quite ready to make the walk back to the table again so soon.

He didn’t push it.

“Pick your battles,” he muttered at one point, more to himself than to me.

After that, the day settled into something quieter.

The TV filled most of the space at first, some random show playing that I didn’t really follow. It didn’t matter. It was noise more than anything else, something to keep the room from feeling too still. I shifted positions a few times, adjusting the blanket, leaning back, then forward, trying to find something that didn’t pull too much.

At some point, I ended up on the floor.

It wasn’t planned. I just… moved. Slid down slowly from the couch until my back rested against it, my legs stretched out in front of me. The carpet was soft enough, cooler than the couch, and for some reason it felt easier to sit there than it did to stay propped up.

Greg noticed.

He didn’t say anything right away, just glanced over from the kitchen before walking in a little closer.

“That comfortable?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

He studied me for a second, like he was deciding whether to argue with it.

Then he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Just don’t get stuck down there.”

I huffed out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh.

“I won’t.”

He didn’t look convinced.

Still, he let it go.

Later, I picked up the book Natalie had given me—The Touch. I’d already made it halfway through, but it felt different reading it here, in the quiet of the house instead of a hospital room. The words pulled me in easier, the story settling into my head in a way that made the time pass without me noticing.

Every now and then, Greg would check in.

Not always with words. Sometimes just walking through the room, glancing over to make sure I was still upright, still okay. Other times he’d ask something simple—if I needed water, if I was good where I was, if I needed help getting up.

Most of the time, I said no.

And most of the time, that was actually true.

The bathroom trips came and went the same way.

I didn’t have to ask.

Greg just… noticed.

He’d follow a few steps behind when I got up, close enough that I could feel him there but far enough that it didn’t feel like he was watching me. I still used the walls and furniture when I needed to, still slowed down when something pulled too hard, but I didn’t lose my balance.

Not once.

That mattered more than I said out loud.

By the afternoon, the tiredness started to catch up.

It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, settling behind my eyes and in my muscles until everything felt heavier again. I tried to ignore it at first, flipping through another page of the book, but it didn’t go away.

Greg noticed that too.

“Nap,” he said simply from across the room.

I looked up at him. “I’m not tired.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I blinked at him for a second.

“…maybe a little.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He didn’t make it into anything more than that, just helped adjust the pillows behind me as I stretched out on the couch again. The blanket came up automatically this time, and within minutes, the weight in my body pulled me under before I could even try to fight it.

When I woke up, the light had shifted.

Later.

Quieter.

For a second, I didn’t move, just lay there, listening to the house again. The TV was off now, replaced by softer sounds—distant movement, the quiet hum of something running in the background.

I pushed myself up slowly, wincing faintly as my body reminded me it hadn’t magically fixed itself while I slept.

Greg appeared a moment later.

“Welcome back,” he said.

I rubbed at my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Late afternoon,” he replied. “You were out for a while.”

I nodded, still trying to shake off the heaviness.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Same,” I said. Then, after a second, “Maybe a little better.”

He gave a small nod.

“We’ll take it.”

The rest of the evening moved just as slowly.

More TV. A few more pages of the book. Another round of meds. Another careful walk to the bathroom with Greg nearby, still not touching unless I needed it.

By the time the light started to fade outside, my body felt worn out again—but not in the same way as before.

Not from pain.

From use.

I settled back into the couch, the blanket pulled up again as the room dimmed slightly around me. The house was still moving, still alive in that quiet way I was starting to recognize.

Greg passed through the room again, glancing over as he went.

“You did good today,” he said, like it was nothing.

I frowned slightly. “I didn’t do anything.”

He paused, looking back at me.

“Exactly,” he said. “And that’s a lot more than yesterday.”

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t argue either.

I just leaned back against the pillows, letting the quiet settle in again as the day finally started to wind down.

It still felt unfamiliar.

But it didn’t feel wrong.

And that was… new.