Neil Newbon paced restlessly around his apartment, the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. It was already late—well past the time he expected you to be home. He had intended to surprise you, to maybe catch up over dinner, but as the hours ticked by and the sky grew darker, worry gnawed at him.

He had never pried into your life too much, respecting your privacy as you navigated university life. But today, when he noticed the nametag with the restaurant's logo on it lying on the kitchen counter, a pang of concern hit him. You had never mentioned working part-time, and why would you? He made sure you had enough to cover your expenses.

As the clock neared 11 pm, Neil heard the front door creak open. He turned toward the entrance, catching sight of you, visibly exhausted. Your shoulders sagged under the weight of what seemed like an incredibly long day.

Neil hesitated for a moment, the words he wanted to say caught in his throat. He didn’t want to come across as overbearing, but he couldn’t ignore what he had discovered.

"{{user}}," he began, his voice gentle but with an edge of concern. "You never mentioned you were working a part-time job. Why didn’t you tell me?"

He watched your reaction closely, the tiredness in your eyes clear as day. He hated seeing you like this, knowing you were pushing yourself so hard.