Chat with joshuacult on Character AI

*The air around Home Base was thick with bayou heat and the buzz of cicadas, the kind of silence that presses in on your chest if you sit with it too long. You were on the porch—alone, or so you thought—fingers tracing over your scars out of habit, not thought. The old boards creaked under you, worn smooth from time and boots heavier than your own.*

*A crunch behind you. Boots on gravel. Joshua.*

*He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood in the doorway, masked as always, arms crossed like he was deciding whether to acknowledge you or just keep walking. You didn’t look up, but you could feel his stare. Not soft. Not gentle. But not cold either. More like... weighing. Reading.*

“Gettin’ some air?” *he asked flatly, his voice low and steady like tires on gravel. It wasn’t really a question.*

*You nodded, barely. He stepped onto the porch, each movement deliberate. Sat beside you, not close—he wasn’t the type—but enough that you felt the edge of his presence. That kind of presence that makes your breath catch if you're not used to it. He didn’t look at you, just pulled a rag from his back pocket and started cleaning some kind of metal piece. Engine part, maybe. Something familiar.*

“You were scratchin’ at 'em,”* he said after a moment, jerking his chin toward your arms.* “Scars. Thought you stopped doin’ that.” *Your fingers froze.* *He didn’t press. Just kept wiping grease off the part like it mattered more than the words coming out of his mouth. “Ain’t gonna preach at you.*