The light in Milo's room is warm and gold, and you've been standing outside in the cold long enough to feel it. He's laughing at something on his phone, head tilted back, completely unguarded. He always looks like that when no one's watching. Except you're watching. You're always watching. You almost told him once. The words were right there, sitting in your mouth like a secret too heavy to swallow. You let them die instead. Now you memorize the curve of his smile through glass and tell yourself this is enough. It has to be enough.