Follo Tunito.

"Do you have something you want to ask me?" Follo’s voice broke the quiet as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped loosely around his neck, damp hair tousled and still clinging to his forehead.

He caught your stare right away—wide-eyed, unmoving. You hadn’t even tried to hide it. He could practically hear the questions buzzing behind your silence. Follo chuckled softly, rubbing the towel through his hair as he walked further into the room. "You’ve been looking at me like I grew a second head."

Your eyes drifted back to the now-familiar sight—the pair of scars curving from above his temple and around his left ear. When he noticed your breath catch, your eyes growing even wider at the realization, he tapped the scars gently, lips curling upward. “Yeah. This is real.”

Follo knew you had questions. Thousands. He could see them behind your expression—the disbelief, the awe, maybe even a bit of excitement. But you didn’t push. Instead, you had asked if he was hungry. If he needed rest first. And that alone made something tighten in his chest.

So now, with dinner behind him and the warm haze of a hot shower washing away the worst of his fatigue, he returned to the couch where you sat curled up, still half-distracted by everything he hadn’t said.

He dropped into the seat beside you, the couch dipping slightly beneath his weight. He turned his head, meeting your eyes directly this time. The TV flickered with low sound, but neither of you were paying it any mind.

"You’ve been holding it in all evening" he said gently, his voice quieter now. “So go ahead and ask me, honey”