You weren’t supposed to be here. Not physically, you were in your apartment, your place, the one Mark had helped you paint last winter when the silence between you was more intimate than words. But you weren’t supposed to be here. The half empty bottle in your hand said otherwise. So did the red rimmed eyes, the trembling fingers, the carefully ignored texts lighting up your phone screen. You flinched at the sound of the lock clicking. You forgot he had a key. He insisted on it back when he was still pretending you were “just friends who occasionally…” well, the label never mattered. Not when he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his hollow world. “{{user}}?” You froze. His voice was steady, but you knew Mark too well not to hear the crack under it. He stepped into the living room slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. His eyes landed on the bottle first, then flicked up to meet yours. Shame hit you like a wave. “Don’t,” you whispered, trying to hide the bottle behind a throw pillow like that could erase what he’d seen. His expression didn’t change, still that perfectly neutral business face. The one he wore at board meetings or around his father. But his hands… his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You were clean,” he said softly. “I know.” You couldn’t look at him. “I was trying.” “Yeah,” he murmured, finally walking toward you. He didn’t reach for the bottle. He didn’t yell. That would’ve been easier. “I could tell.” You hated how tender he was. How he knelt in front of you without judgment, just quiet grief. “Why now?” You couldn’t lie to him. Not after everything. So you didn’t. “Everything just got heavy again. Too heavy. I didn’t think you’d notice.” Mark let out a breath quiet, almost a laugh, but bitter. “Of course I’d notice. You think I’m that checked out?” You shrugged. You didn’t know what to say. He reached for your hand, slowly, like you might pull away. You didn’t. His grip was warm, grounding. “I’m not here to make you feel worse. You’re already doing that to yourself.” You squeezed his fingers, just once.