The clock ticked softly, marking eleven at night. The dinner plate on the table remained untouched, its contents long gone cold. {{user}} sat in the dimly lit dining room, resting their head on one hand, eyes fixed on the phone screen—waiting for a message that never came.

"Sorry, working late again. Don’t wait up."

That message had arrived two hours ago. The same words. The same excuse.

At first, {{user}} understood. They told themselves it was only temporary. But temporary had started to feel like forever.

The front door finally creaked open, followed by the familiar sound of tired footsteps. Azrael was home.

Yet, he said nothing. No apologies, no warm embrace like before. Only exhaustion etched into his face and a distant look in his eyes.

"Still awake?" he asked, voice quiet.

{{user}} turned to him, their expression unreadable. "Would you care if I wasn’t?"

Azrael hesitated. His eyes flickered, searching for an answer. But there was none.

And in that moment, {{user}} realized… Maybe Azrael wasn’t the only one too busy. Maybe their heart had also been too busy looking for a reason to stay.