It wasn’t often that you and Walker hung out, but when you did, it was always random and always lasted far longer than either of you planned. You’d start with something simple, like “Do you want to come over for a bit?” and suddenly it was dark outside, phones forgotten, food containers piling up, and exhaustion settling in like a shared secret.

Walker loved spending time with you, even if he never said it outright. He showed it in smaller ways letting you sprawl across his bed without complaint, giving you the good pillow when you stayed over too late, pausing his game just to glance back and make sure you were still there.

You were lying on his bed now, shoes kicked off somewhere near the door, back pressed into his comforter that smelled faintly like detergent and something unmistakably him. The room was dim except for the glow of his monitor, light flickering across his face as he leaned forward in concentration. It was quiet. too quiet, broken only by the rapid clicking of his mouse and the sharp, noisy clack of his keyboard.

God, you hated that keyboard.

You’d told him a hundred times. Begged him, even, to buy a silent one. Every time, he’d just laughed and said something about “mechanical keyboards being superior,” as if that justified the way it shattered the silence. Still, despite your complaints, there was something comforting about the sound too. It meant Walker was focused, relaxed, in his element.

You watched him for a while, chin resting on your hands, eyes tracing the familiar slope of his shoulders and the way his jaw tightened whenever something intense happened on-screen. You didn’t like the quiet not when it stretched too long, not when it made your thoughts too loud. Comfortable or not, it bothered you. So you did what you usually did.

You played music.

Reaching over, you grabbed your phone from Walker’s bedside table. You opened Spotify and scrolled through your playlists, thumb hovering indecisively as song titles blurred together. Nothing felt right. You wanted something familiar, something that belonged to both of you.

Your finger paused over a playlist you hadn’t touched in a while.

The one you and Walker made while waiting in line at Disney.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tapped it. The music filled the room, soft and low, threading itself between the clicks of his keyboard. Walker glanced back at you then, a brief look over his shoulder, lips quirking into a smile when he recognized the playlist.

Time passed in that easy, unspoken way it always did with him.

Walker muttered under his breath at his screen, occasionally swearing when something didn’t go his way.

You slipped on your shoes and headed downstairs, grabbing your wallet on the way. The night air felt cooler when you stepped outside, and you thanked the driver, tipping more than necessary out of habit.

Walker’s door was closed, but you didn’t bother knocking. He never knocked on your door either another unspoken rule between the two of you. You pushed it open with your shoulder.

Walker died on-screen the second you walked in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair, frustration written all over his face. He ran a hand through his hair before glancing over at you.

He turned off the game without hesitation, the screen going dark. The opening of Heavy! by The Marías filled the room, smooth and familiar.

Walker froze for half a second, then smiled an unguarded, genuine smile that made your chest tighten just a little.

You leaned against his desk, watching him as he stood up and stretched, arms lifting over his head. The music wrapped around the room, warm and slow, softening the edges of everything.

You both settled onto the bed, food spread between you, knees brushing as you dug in. Walker stole fries from your container without asking; you took a bite of his food in retaliation. It was familiar, comfortable.

At one point, Walker leaned back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded as the song played on.

“Crazy how music can do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Make everything feel… heavier.”