The living room holds its breath.
Moon's eyes are still on me, waiting. The question hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating.
Aren't I your family too?
I don't answer. Can't answer. The words stick in my throat, trapped behind layers of confusion and exhaustion and something I don't want to name.
The silence stretches. Thickens. Becomes a living thing between us.
Then he moves.
He rises from the couch slowly, deliberately, like someone who has all the time in the world. His movements are calm, unhurried, comfortable—the ease of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run.
My eyes follow him against my will, tracking every step as he crosses the space between us.
He sits beside me.
Close.
Too close.
Our shoulders press together, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my clothes, settling into my skin like it belongs there. I can feel the solid line of his body against mine, the rise and fall of his breathing.
I shift away, creating space.
