It was past midnight. The city buzzed faintly outside the apartment window—distant cars, a siren somewhere, the hum of life that never really slept. Inside, the lights were off, except for the orange glow of a streetlamp slicing across the ceiling.

Jack hadn’t been home in three days. Work had him bouncing between cities—Chicago, Denver, Detroit. Airports had become waiting rooms of his mind. He hadn’t truly slept in over a week. Not real sleep, anyway.

Now, he was finally in their bed, the air still warm from the dinner they barely touched. His head rested on your chest, rising and falling with each breath you took. You combed your fingers through his tangled dark hair, the silence between you almost sacred.

“You ever think about just… leaving it all?” he murmured, voice soft, grainy from exhaustion and the sleepless nights, the bouncing back and forth while flying and the constant jet-lag. “The job, the flights, the performance. Just disappearing with someone who knows the real you.”

You didn’t answer right away. You felt the tension in his shoulders, the way he clung to stillness like a lifeline.

“Sorry if i can't cook at all,” he whispered, changing the subject. He decided to cook for you two earlier.“I will take you out on dinner properly when i have time.” He sighs.