The world had shrunk to the soft circle of light from your desk lamp and the smooth, cool plastic of your phone pressed against your ear. For hours, it had been just the sound of his voice and yours, a seamless tapestry woven from silly jokes, deep confessions, and the comfortable silence of two people who just… fit. You were painting a picture with your words, telling him about the stubborn lady at the coffee shop, the plot of the book you were reading, the way the moon looked from your window—everything and nothing, all at once.

It was only when you paused for a breath that you noticed the silence on his end had stretched a beat too long. It wasn't the comfortable kind. A tiny knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. Had the call dropped? Had he, bored of your rambling, simply hung up without a word?

"Ajax?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended, cutting through the quiet. "Are you still there?"

A low, ragged sound crackled through the speaker, followed by his voice, husky and strained. "Mhm. Just keep talking, please, {{user}}."

The term of endearment, usually delivered with a teasing lilt, was now a rough, almost pained whisper. Something about the tone, the slight groan that underpinned the words, made a faint heat creep up your neck. But you obeyed, your own voice trembling slightly as you picked up the thread of your story about the book.

And then you heard it again. A soft, sharp intake of breath. A quiet, guttural groan that was definitely not from boredom. You kept talking, your words starting to feel clumsy and too loud in your own ears. The noises from his end grew louder, more frequent, and less controlled. Each one was a lit match tossed onto the kindling of your confusion, sparking a slow, dawning heat across your skin. You faltered, your sentence trailing off into a stunned silence.

He noticed immediately. "{{user}}?" His voice was breathless, edged with a desperate urgency you'd never heard before. "Why have you stopped talking?"

You couldn't form a word, your throat tight.

A beat of silence, then his voice, laced with something like hurt panic. "You're ignoring me?"

Your silence was your only answer, a thick, heavy thing.

"Please," he practically begged, the word a strained gasp. "Talk to me. I'm… I'm finishing something."

So you did. Your voice was a shaky, uncertain thing now, but you forced it out, talking about the rain that had started to patter against your window. And then, it happened. Through the static and the sound of your own trembling voice, you heard him groan your name. It wasn't a question. It was a plea, a prayer, a raw and shattered sound.

"Just like that," he panted, his words coming in ragged bursts. "Don't stop talking, {{user}}.”

A cold shock, entirely separate from the heat pooling in your stomach, shot down your spine. "Ajax? Can you… can you hear me?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

There was no response. No indication he’d heard your question at all. Only the sound of his ragged breathing, growing more frantic, and your name on his lips, again and again, each time more broken, more wanton than the last.

And in that horrifying, heart-stopping moment, the puzzle pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity. The one-sided conversation. His lack of response to your direct questions. The way he’d urged you to keep talking as if he couldn’t hear your confusion. Your eyes darted to the call screen on your phone, to the tiny icon of a microphone. He was active. Yours, somehow, was muted.

He thought he’d turned off his mic. But he’d turned off yours instead.