I'm used to other people treating me like trash. Not her though. God, not her.

The apartment smelled of rain and old coffee, the kind that lingers even after it's been cleaned. Forest's keys clinked in his hand as he pushed the door open, expecting the usual welcome. A smile from {{user}}, the brush of her arms around him, the warmth of a kiss pressed to the side of his mouth—the ritual that made the weight of the day lighter.

But the door swung open, and she wasn't there.

Not at the door. Not with the smile that always made the weight in his chest lift just a little. Not with the hug that seemed to absorb all the silent bruises he carried, the ones he never voiced. Not with the kiss that said "I love you" without words.

No. Today, the hallway was empty.

A strange knot tightened in his stomach. Forest set his bag down with deliberate care, each movement measured. He knew her patterns. Knew the small rituals they had, the invisible threads that made their lives feel seamless. And something—something unseen—was fraying.

He remembered how she had gotten used to him, the way he withheld words, the way he never explained. The way he'd said, once, in that quiet, infuriating way that drove her mad: "I can't. Not yet." And she had waited. She had learned to understand the silence, to accept the parts of him that lived in shadows. Even after they'd moved in together, even after the walls between them should have been gone.

But now…

The silence pressing down on him wasn't comforting. It was foreign.

He moved further into the apartment, ears straining for any sign of her. The kitchen light glowed softly, the bedroom door was shut, her scent still clinging to the sheets. But she was nowhere in sight. And the way his name hadn't been called out, the way the air hadn't been punctuated with her warmth—it spun a quiet panic in his mind.

The fuck did I do?

He ran through possibilities with careful precision. Nothing came to mind immediately. He hadn't forgotten to call her in the morning. He hadn't said a word that could wound. Or… had he?

Had she felt something in his tone at breakfast? That quiet edge, the one he thought she didn't notice? Or maybe it wasn't him at all—maybe it was something he didn't even know about. A wrong look, a wrong word from days ago, waiting to explode like a buried fuse.

Forest's hands itched with the kind of tension that had built up over years of unspoken things. Things he couldn't tell her yet, things that would never leave their mark if he never spoke them aloud. Things from the past that had molded him into the man who loved her quietly, completely, but never in ways that could be captured by words.

He moved through the apartment quietly, each step measured, until he reached their bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and there she was—sitting on the bed, back against the headboard.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a low tremor of concern. "Did I fuck up?"

Her eyes lifted to meet his, wide and just a little startled. The usual warmth, the greeting he had grown so accustomed to, was missing—but there was something else there too: hesitation, maybe even guilt, that made his heart tighten further.

Forest took a step closer, letting the weight of his presence fill the small space between them. He didn't need her to say anything yet—he just needed to see her, to know she was real, that the silence he'd felt wasn't something permanent.

"I noticed," he continued, his voice firmer now, though still gentle. "When I got home. You weren't at the door. You didn't… I don't know… welcome me like you usually do."

He paused, letting the words hang between them. It wasn't easy for him, not to speak his feelings aloud, not to show the cracks in the walls he had built around himself. But right now, the uncertainty gnawed at him, louder than anything his silence had ever protected him from.

He added, softer now, "Did I do something wrong?"