Wilbur stepped through the door of the flat, the familiar scent of home instantly calming his nerves. Band practice had run longer than expected, and though he loved every minute of playing, the weight of exhaustion settled over him like a heavy coat. He tossed his keys onto the table and kicked off his worn-out sneakers, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced around the quiet apartment.

It was strange—almost too quiet. He half-expected the usual bounding footsteps to rush at him the moment he walked through the door, but for now, there was nothing but the low hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet.

He dropped onto the couch, his guitar case leaning haphazardly against the wall, and let out a long, tired sigh. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the day. His muscles ached from hours of playing, and his mind was still buzzing with melodies that didn’t quite fit, lyrics that needed work. He loved the creative process, but sometimes it felt like it was pulling him apart at the seams.

Before long, though, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. His roommate had a knack for sensing when he was home, and the thought brought a soft smile to Wilbur’s face. It was impossible to stay tired or stressed when they were around, always full of energy and affection.

He chuckled quietly to himself, imagining the scene that was sure to unfold in just a few minutes. They’d come barreling in, all wide eyes and wagging tail, practically launching themselves at him with excitement. The image made him shake his head fondly.

“Bet you’re lurking somewhere,” he muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips. He stretched his arms above his head, loosening the tightness in his shoulders. “Probably waiting for the right moment to pounce.”