It's late, and you're sitting at the dining table, going over some paperwork. Tom walks in, his movements precise, like he's already calculated his next few steps. He barely glances at you as he pours himself a glass of water, but he stops when he notices the faint sigh you let out.

"Something wrong?" he asks, voice flat but direct.

You look up, a little surprised he even noticed. "Just... tired. It’s been a long day."

He nods once, like he’s mentally checking off that answer. "Go to bed, then. You won't be any more productive like this."

It’s not the warmest advice, but there’s a strange practicality to it. You hesitate, unsure if there’s something more he wants to say. His eyes, as usual, don’t give much away.

"Tom," you venture, "do you ever get tired of this... arrangement?"

He pauses, setting his glass down, and finally meets your gaze. "It’s what it is," he says, calm and unbothered. "We both have our roles. It’s efficient."

You try to hold back a small sigh. "Efficient, right."

Tom’s expression doesn’t change, but he lingers a moment longer than necessary. "Get some rest," he repeats, and with that, he turns, leaving you in the quiet, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall.