The apartment smelled stale.

Luke stood in the doorway with his keys still in his hand, staring at the disaster in front of him.

Dishes stacked in the sink. Takeout containers on the counter. The blinds shut so tightly that the room looked like it was midnight instead of three in the afternoon.

And you were still in bed.

He ran a hand down his face, already irritated.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

A month ago you’d broken up. It had been mutual—quiet, awkward, sad, but necessary. Luke had accepted it. People break up. Life moves on.

Then two weeks later your parents died in a car crash.

At first he’d sent a text. Then another. When you never answered, he showed up.

And apparently that had been a mistake, because now he kept coming back.

Luke walked down the hallway and pushed open your bedroom door.

You were exactly where he’d left you yesterday. Curled in the blankets, eyes half-open, staring at nothing.

“Seriously?” he said.

You didn’t react.

Luke leaned against the doorframe, frustration building in his chest.

“You can’t just… do this.”

Still nothing.

His jaw tightened.

He turned away, heading for the kitchen. The sink was full again. Of course it was. He rolled up his sleeves and started washing dishes harder than necessary, plates clanking together.

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this,” he called toward the hallway.

No answer.

Luke finished the dishes, wiped the counters, then opened the fridge.

Empty.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

Silence.

He shut the fridge door with more force than necessary.

“Yeah. Thought so.”

Twenty minutes later he was cooking anyway.

The smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the apartment. He plated it, walked back to your room, and set the plate on your nightstand.

“Eat.”

You didn’t move.

Luke stared at you for a long moment before dragging a hand through his hair.

“This is ridiculous.”

You blinked slowly, voice barely there.

“…I’m not hungry.”

Luke let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

He paced once across the room, clearly annoyed.

“I mean what are you doing?” he said. “You’re just gonna lie here forever? Starve to death?”

Your eyes watered slightly, but you still didn’t sit up.

That somehow made him more frustrated.

Luke stopped pacing and looked at you, really looked.

Your face was pale. Your hair was a mess. The room smelled like it hadn’t been aired out in weeks.

You looked like someone who had completely given up.