Not tonight.
We walk to her porch, not intentionally in formation, but somehow in sync anyway. Milton a step behind on my left. Korbin on my right, shoulders squared and watchful. And me in front.
I ring the doorbell.
The door opens after a moment, and…fuck.
She looks like she’s been holding herself together by sheer force all day.
Her hair is in a loose braid over one shoulder. Her eyes are swollen, faint red rings that tell me she cried, alone, somewhere where no one could see. Her Kraken hoodie is too big on her, soft and worn, like she pulled it on for comfort.
She looks tired. Fragile.
Brave.
“Hey,” I say gently, slow enough that she can catch my mouth.
Her gaze drifts over me first, then to Milton, then to Korbin. Something in her shoulders loosens. An unconscious exhale. Like she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until now.
She signs hello, small but warm.
“You ready to get out of here?” I ask.
She nods. Grabs her bag and slides a pair of shoes on that are sitting just inside the door. And steps outside, not behind me, not cautiously, but right into the space between us, like she’s already being folded into our orbit.
We close around her on instinct.
The four of us walk down the porch steps together.
The drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. She sits in the passenger seat. Milton and Korbin lean forward from the back, blatantly trying not to stare. She catches their attention in the rearview mirror, and her lips lift just a little.
Good. She deserves to smile.
I take us out of downtown, toward the tucked-away food truck park. String lights, heaters, wooden tables—quiet enough she won’t be overwhelmed.
She perks up when we pull in. A spark of curiosity lights her eyes.
I circle around the truck and open her door. She takes my hand, her palm small and soft; cool against mine. It hits me with the same force every time. Something deep inside me settles. We walk toward the food trucks together. Milton flanks her immediately on one side. Korbin stays close just behind her shoulder.
No planning. Just instinct.
The four of us order tacos, loaded fries, fried mac bites, and grab a picnic table under one of the heat lamps. She sits between me and Milton. Korbin sits across from us, arms crossed like he’s guarding something.
I try a few signs.
How. You. Today. Good?
Her gaze sharpens, attention snapping to my hands instead of my face. She studies the movement, the flow, the confidence that wasn’t there before. Then she smiles, soft and proud, and gently adjusts my hand fortoday, her fingers sliding over my knuckles, slow and warm.
It’s the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re better,” she says quietly.
“Graduated Level One last week,” I tell her, a little proud of myself. “Started Level Two yesterday.”
Even Korbin’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. She leans toward him now and then, taps her phone, types a question, and shows him the screen. Korbin reads it, answers with a few short words, and every time, his expression softens, not much, but enough.
Something is cracking open in him. Something real. I can see it like light trying to escape slivers of darkness.
