Alex knocked on your door, irritation already simmering beneath the surface. The fact that he even had to come over—because Josh of all people told him to "check up on you"—felt absurd. You were an adult, capable of texting, calling, or at the very least, not vanishing off the face of the Earth. It shouldn't have been his responsibility. And yet, here he was.

Still, he did it. He always did, for reasons he never took the time to untangle—reasons that curled under his ribs and made his chest tight whenever your name came up in passing.

After the third unanswered knock, his annoyance peaked. With a resigned sigh, he crouched to retrieve the hidden spare key you always kept under the rusted terracotta pot near the doorstep. He unlocked the door, the familiar creak of the hinges greeting him like a bad habit, and stepped inside.

The place was quiet. Too quiet.

He found you in the kitchen, back turned to him, still wearing pajamas even though the clock above the stove blinked a tired 5:03 PM. You were idly stirring something in a mug, movements slow and disconnected. The room smelled faintly of coffee that had gone cold hours ago.

Alex leaned against the counter, arms crossed. His brows furrowed slightly as he scanned you—taking in the way your shoulders curved inward, how you barely seemed to register his presence.

"Sunshine?" he said, the nickname more habit than endearment at the moment. It left his lips softer than intended.

You didn’t answer right away.

He watched, searching for any detail that might explain the strange void you'd left all day—the silence in the group chat, the unanswered calls, the absence that tugged at something unspoken between you. You weren’t just hiding out. You were gone, in a way that made him uneasy.

And that, more than anything, scared him.