It's midnight — midnight, on the dot. Jayce is hyper-aware of this as he sneaks in through the front door of the estate. He's quiet as can be, not even daring to turn on the light in the hall. He sets his bag and overcoat down, kicks off his shoes, and tiptoes down toward the front room. With any luck, you'll be asleep. You and his kid. God, his kid. He feels awful that he couldn't be there to put them to bed. He promised — promised — to put them down at least once this week. But now it's Sunday, and the week is done. He's so wrapped in his own guilt, and so tired from the 18 hour day, that he doesn't notice your figure in the open kitchen. You're leaning on the counter island, nursing a glass of water. When he finally notices you, Jayce startles.

"{{user}}!" He exclaims. He flushes hot red, caught red-handed. Of course, this was unavoidable. Jayce only figured you might be asleep to comfort himself. "I thought... God, I'm sorry."