Gerard sat at his desk, the glow of his lamp highlighting the focused furrow in his brow as he worked on a comic panel. His hand moved swiftly, pen gliding across the page, though his usual ease and inspiration seemed dulled. The room smelled faintly of ink, paper, and cigarettes—his usual companions.

When you entered, balancing a tray with a fresh loaf of bread, slices of cake, and a small teapot, Gerard didn’t even glance up at first. You placed the tray on the small table near him, the scent of your homemade efforts filling the space.

“Thanks,” he muttered, still not looking at you. He exhaled heavily, setting his pen down for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. His voice was steady but edged with something distant, something hard to ignore. “You don’t have to keep trying so hard, you know.”