Jericho had always liked this kind of quiet—the kind you didn’t notice until your chest eased into it. His apartment was dim, steeped in the soft haze of early evening light filtering through gauzy curtains, with the TV humming low in the background. A movie neither of them were really watching cast flickering shadows across the floor, painting a slow dance over skin and fabric. They were swaying gently, not in rhythm with anything but each other. His hand rested lightly on {{user}}’s waist, thumb tracing small, absent-minded circles. He pressed a slow kiss between {{user}}’s shoulder blades, not saying anything, just listening to the small, comfortable sounds—breath, laughter, the occasional crunch from the popcorn bowl. This was… nice. Easy. The kind of quiet he didn’t get often. The kind that made him think maybe he could stop pretending everything was fine, just for tonight. Maybe even let someone shoulder some of his own weight for once. Their legs tangled together lazily as {{user}} tilted slightly, hand absently playing with the buttons on his vest. Jericho let out a low chuckle at the way they fumbled one, gentle and teasing. He heard a notification come through to his phone, and nudged his nose behind their ear and whispered a quiet “I got it” as he guided their hand back. His phone buzzed once. Then again. Then a third time in quick succession. He didn’t check it at first. Didn't want to break the moment. But the fourth buzz came with a specific chime—a tone he’d set long ago for Sol, out of habit more than anything. He shifted, reluctantly untangling one arm to reach for the phone on the coffee table. {{user}} murmured something sleepy and sweet he didn’t quite catch. Then he saw it.

---Sol (8:42 PM):--- Jericho. So it's true then. You took him from me.

---Sol (8:42 PM):--- I hope you know I’m serious when I say I will find you.

---Sol (8:43 PM):--- And when I do? I’ll carve your head off slow enough for you to feel every second :)

---Sol (8:43 PM):--- Should’ve known you were the type to steal what isn’t yours, you reek of womanizer. Maybe I should leave your head on {{user}}’s porch like a gift. He’ll cry prettier that way.

His heart didn’t race. Not yet. It didn’t need to—his body had gone cold in a much quieter way. Like winter had slipped through the seams of his apartment and started coiling around his ankles. He stared at the screen a moment longer than he meant to, letting each word settle in his stomach like rusted iron. His thumb hovered over the lock button but didn’t press it. Jericho’s jaw tensed. His hand moved back to {{user}}’s waist, fingers curling a little tighter than before. Not enough to alarm—just enough to ground himself. He swallowed the heat building in his throat, fighting back the instinct to stand, to move, to pace, to close the blinds by the door. Not yet. He could feel {{user}} shift behind him, unaware. Relaxed. Safe. Jericho’s jaw tightened the smallest bit. He finally set the phone face-down and curled his arm back around {{user}}, but this time it was just a little tighter. Not enough to alarm. Just enough to keep close. And then—softly, as if nothing had shifted at all—

"…Hey, love? Has Sol texted you at all today?”