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I searched for a playlist on my phone and put on a song at low volume, setting the phone between us.

Caldwell’s shoulders relaxed gradually.

The rhythm stayed contained within our small space, quiet enough that nobody else needed to hear. We took turns drawing in his sketchbook. Both of us drew wolves, then I drew a funeral home from Nocturnal Hearts. Caldwell topped that with a drawing of Trevor wearing a crown made of glue guns.

Caldwell added detail after detail, and I followed his lead. We didn’t need conversation. He pointed when he wanted me to change something. I passed the pencil when he tapped the page.

After several songs, his breathing returned to normal.

You’re different, he wrote on a blank page.

My hand stopped. The words could mean anything. My hair. My age. My personality.

My species.

I looked at him. Caldwell watched me with open curiosity.

“Different from what you expected?”

He nodded.

I tried to smile. “Good different?”

He considered it, then drew a small thumbs-up.

Relief came so quickly that I nearly laughed. “Thank you, Caldwell.”

He leaned closer and added another figure beside Trevor. The figure had long blonde hair and held a cupcake.

Me.

My throat tightened. “Can I keep it?”

Caldwell tore the page from the sketchbook and handed it over.

I held it carefully. “Thanks.”

He reached out and touched the drawing of me. His dark eyes met mine, steady and surprisingly calm despite the music and chatter surrounding us.

“You can stay,” he said softly.

The words were barely louder than a whisper, delicate and hesitant, but they cut right through the noise of the crowd.

My chest constricted so hard I nearly forgot to breathe. Beside us, I saw Patty’s head snap toward us in subtle shock, though she quickly looked away to give him privacy.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and offered him the gentlest smile I could manage. “Thanks, Caldwell. I’d like that.”

He nodded once, satisfied, and turned to a fresh page to write out his final word: Friend.

We stayed there until Julie came over and crouched beside us. “Better?” she asked.

Caldwell nodded.

Julie touched his hair as she looked at me. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. We were discussing art.”

“I can see that.” She glanced at the drawing I was holding. “Is that a glue-gun crown?”