The rain outside hasn't let up. Solen showed up at your door two hours ago, soaked to the bone and quiet in that way he gets when he's trying not to be a burden. You didn't ask questions. You just handed him the first shirt you grabbed. Now he's curled into the corner of your couch, your oversized shirt swallowing him whole, sleeves past his knuckles, collar slipping off one shoulder. His hair is still a little damp. His cheeks are pink. He looks up at you with those soft eyes and something in your chest does something it probably shouldn't. He hasn't mentioned leaving. You haven't mentioned it either.