you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in the living room, back against the couch, dinner half-eaten beside you. the balcony door is open, city noise in the background—buses, sirens, someone yelling three floors down.

the lock turns. one short click. then the door opens.

your boyfriend stepps in, shut it with his foot before tossing his keys on the counter. they slid, but didn’t fall.