We end up at a place near the market center. Open air, low tables, cushions instead of chairs. Public. Visible. Anyone could see us here, and anyone is definitely watching.
I start to lower myself onto a cushion and my ribs scream at me halfway down. I freeze, stuck in an awkward half-crouch, trying to figure out how to finish the movement without whimpering.
Koshin's hand finds my elbow. His other palm presses flat against my lower back, and he guides me down the rest of the way—slow, steady, taking most of my weight without making it obvious.
"I had it," I mutter.
"You were stuck."
"I wasstrategizing."
He doesn't dignify that with a response. Just waits until I'm settled on the cushion before folding himself down beside me with more grace than someone his size has any right to. He ends up close. Too close. Our knees brush.
He doesn't move away, but neither do I.
Food arrives without being ordered. Platters of things I don't recognize, rich and fragrant. Koshin pushes a dish toward me.
"Eat."
"You said that already."
"You haven't listened yet."
Asshole.
I eat because he's right, because my body wants more than I expected, because it gives me something to do with my hands besides think about how close he is.
How his knee keeps pressing against mine every time he shifts.
We eat in almost comfortable silence. Would be comfortable if I weren't so aware of every breath he takes.
"My sister."
The words fall out. I don't know where they came from, but Koshin goes still, that focus sharpening, and now I have to keep going or look like an idiot who just blurts out random family members for fun.
"Seris. She's still with him. My father. Twenty years old and she doesn't—" My throat closes up. Fuck. "She was supposed to be safe. I was going to get us out. Both of us. I had a plan."
I didn't have a plan. I had a fantasy and a lot of desperate hope, which is basically the same thing as nothing.
"She's smart," I say. "Smarter than me. She'll figure something out."
I stop, because if I keep talking I'm going to do something embarrassing, and I've already hit my quota of pathetic vulnerability for the day.
Koshin doesn't speak. The silence stretches, filled with crowd noise and clattering dishes, and he just sits there. Doesn't interrupt. Doesn't offer comfort or solutions or any of the useless things people say when they don't know what else to do.
Great. Now he's seen me crack. In public. Over lunch. Very dignified.
"She sounds strong," he says finally. Quiet. "You both are."
That's it. Not a promise, not a platitude. Just acknowledgment.
I don't know what to do with that. I don't know what to do with someone who listens without trying to fix it, without making it about themselves, without—
"If you tell anyone I got weepy over bread and whatever this is—" I gesture at the dish in front of me. "I'll deny it. Aggressively."
One corner of his mouth lifts. "Noted."
I shove more food in my mouth so I don't have to keep talking.
