The dim glow of the television flickers across the room, casting shifting shadows over Caleb’s face as the movie drones on, but his attention isn’t on the screen. It hasn’t been for the past half hour. Instead, his gaze keeps drifting back to you, sitting just a little too far away on the couch, your eyes fixed on the action playing out in front of you.

He shifts in his seat, the necklace you gave him clinking softly against his chest, the sound almost lost under the hum of the dialogue. He wants to say something, crack a joke, or ask you something, anything, but the words get stuck.

Things aren’t the same, not since the explosion in Linkon, not since he went away. Caleb doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. The easy rhythm you two used to share feels like it’s just out of reach, and all he can do is glance your way again, trying not to get caught. “You’re sitting pretty far away, y’know.”