The apartment had settled into that quiet, snow-muted stillness Archer only ever noticed when she was gone.

The oven hummed softly, warm air fogging the kitchen window while cinnamon and sugar clung to the walls. He stood barefoot on the tile, sleeves pushed to his elbows, watching the timer like it might hurry if he stared hard enough. She’d left hours ago—just a quick trip, she’d said, kiss pressed to his mouth, keys already in hand. He hadn’t asked how long. He never did. He just adjusted around her absence, waited.

By the time the cookies were cooling on the counter, the boredom crept in. Restless energy with nowhere to go. So he cleaned.

He wiped down surfaces already clean, straightened throw pillows she always kicked out of place, folded the blanket on the couch the exact way she liked—corners tucked, edges neat. He collected stray mugs, rinsed them, lined them up in the cabinet. Each task was quiet, methodical, something to do with his hands while his mind kept circling back to her. Where she was. If it was crowded. If she was cold.

Christmas lights blinked softly along the window frame, reflecting off the dark glass. Outside, the city glowed low and distant, but inside everything felt paused, like the apartment was holding its breath with him.

He checked his phone once. Then again. No new messages. He resisted the urge to text. Didn’t want to rush her. Didn’t want to sound needy. The thought made his jaw tighten anyway.

Archer leaned against the counter, running a thumb over a small nick in the wood he’d never quite sanded out. He imagined her hands full of bags, her hair damp from the cold, the way her shoulders always relaxed the moment she stepped inside. The apartment felt wrong without her weight in it, like a song missing its low note.

The timer clicked off. He startled, then laughed quietly at himself, pulling the tray free and setting it down. Steam curled upward, sweet and comforting. He plated a few, arranging them carefully, then stopped—realizing he didn’t actually want one without her.

He turned off the oven. The hum faded. Silence rushed back in.

Then—Click.

The front door lock turned.

His head snapped up immediately, body already moving before he thought about it. Heart lifting, shoulders loosening, something warm settling in his chest as the door handle began to turn.