He thinks about her question longer than he admits.
Who supports you?
He turns it over quietly.
He has people.
Sunny answers instantly.
Zane shows up.
Laura invites him over.
That counts.
Doesn't it?
He has never needed catching.
Never drifted far enough to require it.
Holding others steady feels natural.
Purposeful.
If he's needed, he exists.
That's always been enough.
They're sitting on his bed now.
He doesn't remember when they moved there.
The conversation softened.
The light shifted.
It made sense.
Miso jumps up like she always does when he's still for too long.
She settles on his lap automatically.
Laura notices.
She always does.
In the past, she would shift slightly away.
Not dramatically.
Just enough distance.
He remembers the first time she came over years ago.
Miso had approached her curiously.
Laura had frozen.
Polite smile.
Hands tucked neatly into her lap.
"I'm not very good with animals," she'd said.
He never pushed it.
Miso learned quickly enough and stopped trying.
Today is different.
Laura watches Miso with quiet focus.
Not avoidance.
Observation.
He feels it before she moves.
"Have you ever… touched her?" he asks lightly.
She glances at him.
"Briefly."
Accurate.
Always brief.
He adjusts Miso slightly.
"She's calmer when she's settled," he says. "Less unpredictable."
Laura nods faintly.
Unpredictable.
That word matters.
She extends her hand slowly.
Not hovering this time.
She's closer.
Her fingers make contact with fur.
Miso doesn't react.
Laura stiffens automatically—
then forces herself not to withdraw.
He sees it.
The restraint.
The choice.
She strokes once.
Twice.
The rhythm is awkward at first.
Then steadier.
Miso begins to purr.
Laura's eyes flicker.
She wasn't expecting that.
He watches her carefully.
Not intervening.
"She won't scratch," he says quietly. "I'm right here."
She nods again.
This time when he lifts Miso slightly, she doesn't retreat.
He shifts the cat into her lap.
Miso resettles without complaint.
Laura's shoulders tense for half a second.
Then drop.
Her hands adjust instinctively to the warmth.
The purring deepens.
He stands briefly to grab Miso's blanket.
Habit.
When he turns back—
Laura is sitting still.
Miso curled comfortably.
Her fingers moving in small, careful strokes.
Her eyes are closed.
He pauses in the doorway.
This isn't unfamiliar.
It's unfamiliar willingness.
She used to avoid this.
Today she stays.
He returns to the bed quietly.
Careful not to disrupt the balance.
Miso presses further into Laura's lap.
Laura exhales slowly.
Then, almost under her breath—
"Safe."
The word is soft.
Unpracticed.
Not meant to be heard.
He feels it land somewhere behind his ribs.
She didn't say it about him.
She didn't say it for him.
She said it because something in her nervous system relaxed.
And that matters more.
The apartment is still gray.
Still minimal.
Still practical.
But with her here—
not avoiding,
not managing,
not retreating—
it feels different.
He doesn't name it.
He just sits beside her.
And lets the moment exist.