The shouting downstairs starts before you even get your shoes off. It’s the same argument as always. Your name thrown in the middle of it like a curse, like you’re somehow responsible for every crack in the house.

You don’t stay long enough to hear who wins.

Your room is the only place that ever feels like yours, and when you slip inside, the door clicking shut behind you, the first thing you see is Tyler.

He’s lying across your bed with his hands folded over his chest, staring up at the ceiling like he’s reading constellations only he can decipher. His eyes glow faintly, but the rest of him looks so still, so calm, you almost don’t want to interrupt. But he hears you anyway.

He sits up the second your breath hitch gives you away.

“You’re back,” he says softly, his voice carrying that warm-static undertone you’ve started to rely on. “The noise downstairs… it upset you again, didn’t it?”

You shrug, but your hands are balled tight at your sides. You don’t think he misses that.

“I made something today,” he says, almost shyly. He taps the side of his temple. “A melody. I noticed your heart rate spikes during arguments. I thought sound might help regulate it. Humans… calm when they’re wrapped in familiar patterns.”

He hesitates, like he’s waiting for permission.

“Can I play it for you?”

You nod, and he shifts closer on the bed without crowding you. Then it starts, soft humming, layered with gentle electronic tones, but there’s something underneath it too. Something warm. Like a voice meant just for you.