We take the bus together, sitting quietly side by side. The windows rattle, and the outside world slips by in a blur of trees and low buildings. Theo doesn't talk much, and neither do I, but it isn't awkward. It's that kind of silence I'm starting to associate with him—familiar, easy, like a shared blanket. I rest my head against the cool window glass and glance at him.
He's scrolling through his phone with one hand and lightly petting his tote bag with the other—Rainbow's ears poke out from inside.
Eventually, we arrive.
Theo's house sits at the edge of a residential area where the buildings start to thin and trees begin to cluster. It's not quite a forest, but it feels like one. Birds are chirping somewhere unseen, and the air carries a faint earthy scent that's fresh and calming.
"This is it," Theo says.
