​Arthur’s hand was pressed flat against the cool, dark wood of his door, his head tipped back against the frame for a brief, precious moment. He had the key in the lock, but hadn't turned it yet, breathing out a long, silent sigh that felt like it carried the weight of his entire week. He noticed you wrestling quietly with your own key in the adjacent lock. ​His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, shifted to meet yours. He didn't speak. Instead, he simply lifted a dark, neatly trimmed eyebrow just a fraction—a silent, weary question mark that seemed to ask, 'Are we really doing this again?' before he quickly dipped his chin in a barely perceptible nod of mutual commiseration and turned the key to escape into his apartment.