I held it. Didn’t look away, didn’t drop my gaze like I probably should have. There are moments where you understand the rules without being told; this felt like one of them. And I knew, somewhere in the back of my head, that this wasn’t the kind of person you test without consequences.
And still… I didn’t move, and neither did he. That was the first thing that settled in. Most people adjust themselves in a new space. They shift their position, look around, attempt to fill the silence with something small and human just to break it. But he didn’t.
He sat like the room had already been mapped, like he had been there longer than me. One arm resting loosely against the back of the chair, fingers hanging over the edge, while his other hand tapped once against the desk like a thought landing. His eyes hadn’t left me, not properly. They moved, but only within a limit. Face, shoulders, hands, and back again. Tracing me. It should have made me uncomfortable, but it didn’t, and that bothered me more than anything else.
I shifted, adjusting against the mattress, barely, just enough for the fabric to move under my hand. His gaze dropped to it instantly, then back up. There it was again, that almost smile. Not really a smile, something much more subtle than that. Like awareness without warmth.
“You don’t say much,”he said.
I didn’t react, and I didn’t need to. My silence carried something here.
He leaned forward in the chair, enough that it changed the angle between us.“You see things, though.”
His head tilted just a fraction, studying me like he was adjusting something in his mind rather than in the room.
“I can tell.”
My fingers stilled completely. Too late; he’d already seen it. A slow exhale left him, almost satisfied but not in a way that made sense yet. His gaze flicked past me for the first time toward the door to the hallway as if he could see through the wall and then back to me.
“You noticed that before you came in here.”
Again, not a question.
My eyes didn’t move, but something in my expression must have, because he let out the smallest breath of something that might have been amusement.
“Yeah.”Soft, like confirming something to himself.
“You’re trying to understand why.”
That one landed differently, because I was. Not just him, but the door, the lock, the fact that he was here now, in my room, sitting in my chair like none of it needed explaining. My gaze flickered, briefly this time, toward the hallway and then back to him. That was enough; it always was. His head tilted a little more this time.
“There it is…”
“You don’t need words.”There was a small pause, then he continued.
“They keep it locked because it’s easier that way.”
His tone didn’t change, but something underneath it shifted.
“People like clear lines.”His fingers stopped moving.
“Inside. Outside.”A small breath.
“Safe. Not safe.”
His eyes stayed on mine the entire time.
“And when something doesn’t fit those lines…”He didn’t finish it immediately, just looked at me.
“They lock it away.”
My chest felt… tight. He leaned back again, the chair making the smallest sound against the floor.
“They think it’s control.”A small beat.
“It’s not.”Another pause, longer this time.
“It’s because they’re scared of what will happen if they can’t contain it.”
