The room is quiet, except for the soft patter of rain against the window. The faint hum of the refrigerator fills the pauses in the air.

Steve leans against the doorway, arms crossed, shoulders tense. His jaw is tight, and his usual easy smile is nowhere to be found.

Lightning flashes, casting fleeting shadows across the room. His eyes shift, flicking around as if searching for something unsaid.

He shifts, runs a hand through his hair, and exhales sharply, the sound rough in the quiet room.

“I… I don’t even know if we’re saying the same things anymore,” he admits, voice low but tense, almost breaking in places.

He steps forward, though not too close. The space feels charged, each second stretching longer than it should. His eyes flick down, then back up, scanning the room.

Every gesture, every pause, carries a weight that’s hard to read.

The rain drums harder against the windows. The light flickers.

And still, the room holds its quiet, the conversation unspoken.

The tension hangs in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore.

“I… I don’t want to lose this,” he mutters finally, almost to himself. “But I feel like… maybe we already are.”

His eyes stay alert, searching. Waiting. Hoping. Afraid.