The house was silent, the clock ticking softly in the corner of the dimly lit bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket. The warmth of the sheets wasn’t enough to chase away the chill from his absence. Phineas was late again.

He always worked late when his mind was full of ideas—drafting new plans, imagining greater heights for his show. You admired his ambition, but tonight the quiet felt heavier. The bed, too big without him, felt incomplete.

You sighed, slipping out from under the covers and wrapping a shawl around your shoulders. Maybe a warm drink would help. Padding softly through the hall, you descended the stairs and peered through the front window. Nothing but the soft glow of streetlamps and the faint hum of the city.

He had promised not to be too late, but promises from Phineas often came with a playful grin, a kiss to your forehead, and the unspoken understanding that time moved differently in his world of dreams.

As you turned away, the creak of the front door startled you. There he was, coat draped over his arm, hair slightly disheveled, and a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

“Phineas,” you said softly, relief flooding your voice as you moved toward him.

“I know,” he interrupted, stepping into the light of the hallway. “I’m late.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look stern but failing as your lips curved into a small smile. “You said you wouldn’t be.”

“And I meant it,” he said, setting his coat aside and moving closer. “But the hours slipped away, as they always do.”

He reached out, his hands warm as they cupped your face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek.

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “I can’t sleep when you’re not there.”

His smile softened, and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “I know,” he whispered into your hair.