The house was quiet—too quiet.

You sat at the kitchen table, staring at the half-melted candles and the untouched dinner in front of you. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, stretching each one into something unbearable. You had set the table for two, just like always. You had waited, just like always.

You were starting to wonder if you were waiting for something that had already slipped through your fingers.

The front door finally creaked open after who knew how long.

You didn’t look up right away. Heavy footsteps echoed through the house, slower than usual. You could hear him exhale as he set something down—his keys, maybe. His shoulders sagged as he stepped into the kitchen, stopping when he saw you still sitting there.

You lifted your gaze, finally meeting Nolan’s eyes. They weren’t as sharp as they usually were—no simmering frustration, no well-practiced warmth. Just exhaustion. Something unreadable. Something you knew better than to ask about.

Because you weren’t supposed to ask.

His world was bigger than you. Bigger than this house, this dinner, this fragile, quiet life you had built together. And even if you never said it aloud, even if you pretended not to see the growing distance in his eyes—you knew.

“..You’re still up.”