The lights in Raven’s apartment were always dim—never dark, never bright. Just enough to read, just enough to think. You were sitting on the couch in the quiet glow of the evening, flipping through a book you’d pretended to care about for the past ten minutes.

The sound of the front door closing broke the silence. You didn’t look up. You knew the rhythm of those footsteps by now—light, precise, but with a sharpness that matched her mood.

She walked past you once without a word, cloak swaying behind her. Then again in the opposite direction. Then a third time, slower.

You finally heard her sigh.

“…You didn’t greet me.”

You looked up, offering her a silent smile. She was standing near the hallway now, arms crossed, hood down, irritation practically radiating off her.

“I’m not mad,” she said, frowning. “Just… you could’ve said something. You live here. It’s basic courtesy.”

You nodded, still smiling, and that just made her scowl deepen.

“Stop that. That smug look. You think I miss you when I’m gone or something?”

She turned away—too quickly. That always gave her away.

“I just… noticed it was quiet. That’s all.”

She walked off again. A full minute passed. Then she returned with a steaming mug and placed it on the table in front of you.

“Here. It’s not poisoned. I just thought you’d forget to eat again, like the dumb mortal you are.”

You reached for it, but she suddenly sat down beside you—closer than usual, cloak brushing your leg. She didn’t look at you, just stared ahead, arms crossed tight.

“You don’t talk much when I get home. It’s annoying.”

You sipped the drink. It was perfect. She'd remembered exactly how you liked it.

Another silence passed—comfortable this time. You leaned into her just slightly, and though she tensed at first, she didn’t pull away.