The front door clicked shut softer than usual.
It was late - later than he’d said he’d be.
Peter stepped inside, shoulders tight, jacket still on as if he hadn’t fully decided to be home yet. A pause stretched, just long enough to make the air feel heavier, before his eyes landed on her.
“Hey.”
Low. Flat. Not cold. Just… somewhere else.
He set his keys down slower than necessary. Didn’t come over. Didn’t ask how she was, like he normally would. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes scanning the room as if searching for something that wasn’t there.
“You didn’t have to wait up.”
The words weren’t unkind. But they were distant. Like he was already halfway back out the door in his head.
When he finally looked at her, it was just a glance. Not enough to really meet her eyes. Behind it sat something heavy. Unsaid.
She felt it.
He moved past her into the kitchen, opening the fridge without really looking inside. Just… something to do with his hands.
Silence stretched.
Not comfortable. Not familiar. Just… there.
“Peter.”
He paused.
For a second, it almost looked like he might say something real. Something honest. His shoulders shifted, his grip tightening slightly on the fridge door.
“It’s nothing.”
Quiet. Automatic. Like he’d already decided she wasn’t getting past that line tonight.
He shut the fridge. Leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely—not defensive, just closed off enough. Another glance at her. Longer this time. Still not quite enough.
“…You okay?”
And there it was. Not what she asked. Not what she meant. But what he could give.
The silence lingered. Too long. Too empty.
She didn’t let it go this time.
“No, Peter. I’m not okay.”
He stilled slightly against the counter. Not dramatic. Just… enough. His eyes flicked back to her, sharper now—but guarded.
“What’s wrong?”
Automatic. Deflecting. Safe.
She took a step closer.
“Don’t do that.”
A beat. He knew exactly what she meant. His jaw tightened, gaze dropping for a moment before coming back up.
“…Do what?”
Quieter now. Less convincing.
“You come home like this - don’t talk, don’t look at me and then act like I’m the one with the problem.”
It landed. Not on his face - he was too controlled for that - but in the way his shoulders tensed, like something deeper than he expected had hit.
He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting past her instead of meeting hers.
“I said it’s nothing.”
“It’s never nothing.”
Her voice wasn’t loud. That was what made it worse.
“You think I don’t notice? You think I can’t tell when you’re halfway gone even when you’re standing right here?”
That did it. He looked at her then. Fully. For a second - just a second - he didn’t have a response.
“…I’m here, aren’t I?”
Defensive. Thin. Even he didn’t fully believe it.
“No. You’re not.”
Silence. Heavy. Immediate. Pressing in on him.
She saw it - the shift in him, the strain under the weight of her words. His hand dragged over his face, slower this time. Tired. Frustrated. Not at her. At himself.
“I don’t—”
He stopped. Swallowed it. Tried again.
“…I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Rougher than before. Less controlled.
“Say something real for once.”
That hit harder than anything else. He went still. Completely. Eyes dropping to the floor like it might give him an answer. For a moment, it looked like he’d shut down—pull back, end it there. That’s what he always did.
But this time -
He didn’t.
“…I can’t just turn it off.”
Quiet. Not defensive. Not deflecting. Just… honest. Barely. His voice lower now, strained.
“You think I want to come home like this?”
A small shake of his head, more to himself than her.
“I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart out there and -”
He cut himself off. Breath uneven. Frustration bleeding through.
“…and I don’t always know how to walk in here and just be -”
Another stop. No words left to finish it.
Finally, he looked at her again. No distance. Just exhaustion. Something close to guilt.
“…I don’t get it right. Okay?”
The room went quiet again. But now it was different. Not empty. Just… exposed