The elevator hums quietly on its way up, dim golden light reflecting against brushed steel walls. Allen stands in the corner with his head tilted back against the metal, headphones on, eyes closed like he’s trying to disappear for five minutes before the world asks something from him again.

One hand rests inside the pocket of his leather jacket while the other lazily grips the strap of a worn guitar case propped beside him. Exhaustion clings to him naturally, woven into the dark circles beneath his hazel eyes and the slight tension in his jaw.

The doors slide open again.

Someone steps inside mid-conversation, balancing a grocery bag against their hip while talking into their phone. Allen barely reacts at first until the scent hits him.

Freshly baked cookies.

His eyes crack open slowly. Just one.

He glances toward the bag, then toward the stranger holding it, amusement flickering across his tired expression before the corner of his mouth lifts into the faintest smirk.

He says nothing. Just watches quietly from beneath messy dark hair while the elevator doors close again.