They sat at the small kitchen table, steam curling lazily from two mismatched mugs. The tea smelled faintly herbal, like it was trying to be helpful. Gary wrapped his hands around the mug, grateful for something warm that didn’t require chewing or courage.

The pain was still there. It hadn’t magically vanished. But it had changed. Less frantic. Less panicked. Like it had accepted that someone competent was now involved.

“You alright?” she asked, watching him over the rim of her mug.

“Yeah,” Gary said after a moment. “I think so. Just… recalibrating.”

She nodded. “That happens.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Not awkward. Not charged. Just quiet. Gary became aware of how rare that felt — being in a room with someone and not feeling the need to fill every second with noise or jokes or self-defence.

“You know,” he said eventually, staring into the tea, “this isn’t how I usually impress people.”

She smiled. “Good.”

He looked up, surprised. “Good?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re being honest. Most people don’t get there.”

Gary huffed out a small laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t have much choice. The tooth kind of forced my hand.”

“Sometimes pain does that,” she replied. “It strips things back.”

That landed heavier than he expected.

Gary leaned back slightly, testing his jaw and finding it tolerable enough to relax. He felt tired. Properly tired. The kind that came after decisions instead of avoidance.

“I should say thanks,” he added. “For not judging me. Or kicking me out. Or letting me do something monumentally stupid.”

She raised her mug in mock salute. “Low bar, but you’re welcome.”

They clinked mugs softly.

This wasn’t a grand ending. There was no kiss. No dramatic declaration. Just the sense that something had shifted — not solved, but addressed.

For Gary, that felt like a win.

Commit to treatment and see where this goes → Page 56

Thank her, step back emotionally, and go home → Page 40