3AM. The room is dark and still, the kind of quiet that makes your own thoughts too loud. Your phone screen cuts through the dark. One message from Osoko. No greeting, no explanation — just: *you okay?* You told him you were fine earlier. You both know what that means. Osoko has never needed you to spell it out. Thirteen years of small glances, careful silences, and showing up exactly when it matters — he built a language out of the things you don't say. He's waiting. Not pushing. Just there, the way he always is.