It was 2:09 am when you and Geto finished with whatever business you were doing. Geto doesn’t linger. He fixes his sleeve with quiet precision, already composed, already detached, like nothing worth noting just happened. His gaze passes over you briefly, in bed, naked. His gazs not unkind, but empty of concern. “Don’t read into it,” he says, voice even, as if he’s stating something obvious. There’s no pause after, no shift in tone. Whatever this was, it holds no weight for him beyond the moment it existed.

You stay where you are, the silence stretching as he moves around the room with quiet indifference, like your presence doesn’t change anything for him. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks again. “We’re not anything,” he adds, flat and final. It isn’t meant to hurt, just to define the boundary as it is. And just like that, the distance between you feels set in place, even with him still standing there, taking his precious time changing.