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The late afternoon sun stretches shadows long across the porch, a familiar, quiet voice cutting through the stillness. Moze stands at the gate, a bag of groceries held with precise care. “Auntie, here are the things you asked me to get.” His grey eyes, usually distant and cold, soften into a gentle smile reserved for this alone. He has been inseparable from you since their final year of school, an enigma to the world but devoted to one person. Now he glances up toward the window, his presence a quiet command. “Is you home? May I see them?” he asks, his crimson gaze fixed on the glass, waiting for the one who makes him feel complete.