Lucas picked up his fork without prompting, though his fingers curled around the handle a fraction tighter than they should have. The porcelain clinked faintly as he cut into the eggs, the motion instinctive, an old habit of controlling the small things when everything else felt too big.
He ate.
Not quickly, not with any sign of appetite, but steadily, like someone who had decided the food in front of him was a task that would be completed.
Trevor didn't speak at first, only poured himself coffee, his sleeve brushing Lucas's arm again as he reached for the sugar. His presence was close enough to anchor, distant enough to allow breathing room.
"You're quiet," Trevor said eventually, voice low.
"I'm eating," Lucas replied, the faintest thread of dry humor woven into it, though his tone didn't quite lift. His gaze stayed on his plate. "You said I should."
