Riley's voice is soft when he steps into the dimly lit room, carrying the weight of hesitation with every syllable.
"Skye...?" he calls gently, though his throat feels dry as if the word has been caught there for too long.
The boy doesn't answer, instead, he shifts deeper under his covers, pulling the blanket up over his head as though that thin barrier could protect him from everything, from Riley most of all.
Riley stands frozen by the bed for a long moment, unsure if he should step forward or retreat and leave him alone.
"I didn't mean it, I promise," Riley whispers, though even as he says it, he wonders if those words mean anything at all to a child like Skye.
He wonders if Skye understands what it means to take words back, if it matters that Riley didn't mean them, if the sting of hearing them still hurts the same way regardless of intention.
Still, Skye doesn't respond in any way.
