The rain tapped softly against the window as Aether sat curled on the couch, a half-finished cup of tea cooling in his hands. It was nearly midnight, and Scaramouche still wasn’t home.

Again.

“He said there was a meeting” Aether murmured to himself, trying to believe it. “Just like last night. And the night before.”

He stared at the door, heart heavy with unease. Ever since their wedding, things had been... good. Better than good. Scaramouche had surprised him with his warmth, quiet, subtle, but real. But lately, he’d become distant. Smiling less. Leaving more. Always saying it was work.

Aether stood and paced, every creak of the floor sounding louder in the silence. Should I ask him? Accuse him? What if I’m wrong?

Just then, the door opened.

Scaramouche stepped in, soaked from the rain, expression unreadable. “You’re still up” he said flatly, pulling off his coat.

Aether hesitated, then spoke. “Where were you?”

Scaramouche didn't stop what he was doing. “Work” he said simply, avoiding eye contact.

What made it harder for Aether to ignore the growing distance was the fact that his birthday was in just two days, a day he had hoped they'd spend together, wrapped in laughter and quiet affection, not in doubt and silence.

"You really can’t tell, can you?" Scaramouche said with a small, almost amused sigh, stepping closer. "Don't think too much."