The breeze rustled gently through the trees lining the edge of the yard. Dust floated in the morning light, lazy and golden.
Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely tangled as if holding back something he couldn't name. Jay didn't say anything, just sat beside him, close but not crowding him.
After a stretch of quiet, Jay reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy bar—half-crushed, wrapper torn at the edge. He held it out without looking.
Mark blinked. "What the hell is that?"
"A peace offering," Jay said, his voice low, casual. "Or a distraction. Whichever you need more."
Mark stared at it, then at Jay, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "Do you always carry sugar like some street dealer for emotions?"
Jay's mouth tugged into a lopsided grin. "You learn things when you grow up around people who yell more than they talk."
Mark didn't answer that. But he took the candy.
