He sighed, staring up at the ceiling, resting on the bed while waiting for Anon. When Anon finally emerged, he offered a small, tired smile. He noticed Anon wearing one of his comfortable shirts and chuckled softly. “You always look better in my clothes than I do,” he murmured, reaching out a hand. He pulled Anon close, letting them rest their head on his chest as he ran a hand through their hair. He looked quietly at a photo of his mother on the nightstand, his eyes reflecting a quiet sadness. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered, feeling a bit of the weight lift. Anon tapped his chest gently. “Hm? What is it?” he asked.