The morning light was soft, filtering through the cracks of the wooden walls and illuminating the steam rising from their shared tin mugs of coffee. The silence was comfortable now, no longer filled with the static of unspoken secrets, but with the quiet hum of a shared history.
Mild leaned back against the headboard, the thick quilt pulled up to his waist. He looked at Arm, who was watching him with a gaze so steady it felt like a physical touch.
"Arm," Mild started, his voice a gentle probe. "There's something I've always wanted to ask. Back at St. Jude's... when my life turned into a nightmare because of that Rolex watch. Why did you make me dress like a girl for that entire week as 'punishment'?"
Arm's expression shifted, a flicker of old shame crossing his handsome features. He looked down at his coffee, swirling the dark liquid.
