He looks so... I dunno the word, but I know he’s happy to be here. My throat still feels tight, a leftover from the quiet tears I shed the night before, but the cabin air feels lighter now, almost charged with a new, tentative energy.
I'm standing by the kitchen counter, using the flimsy excuse of making coffee to watch as Nox settles into the spare room.
The door to it is wide open, giving me quite the view of him moving around. He didn't bring much, just that small duffel bag.
I'm guessing these are the only belongings he's been surviving with for the past few months, his actual fancy s**t still gathering dust in his room in the pack house.
The thought makes a fresh wave of quiet anger simmer beneath my skin.
Still, his presence seems to fill everywhere up, and not in a tight, cl
