You’ve been… off. Weird. Not mean, not angry—just distant. And Ash noticed. Of course he did. He always notices. The subtle shift in your tone, the way your eyes would drift away when he spoke, the half-smile that didn’t reach your eyes, the pauses before you answered—he caught every small thing. The little things you tried to hide but couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried.

He tried. Carefully. Gently. He asked if you wanted to talk while making dinner, suggested training together, paid even more attention when he asked how your day was—but every attempt was met with the same guarded responses: ”I’m fine.” “I’m just tired.” “Work has been stressing.” Enough to shut him down, enough to tell him you weren’t going to give him more.

He tried to push it aside. Tried to ignore it. Tried to tell himself maybe it was just a rough patch, maybe something minor—but week after week, it didn’t fade. It grew.

You stopped texting like you normally would. Quick replies turned into nothing at all. Your friends invited you out, and you always declined, even though you normally would’ve gone. Ash texted, privately, suggesting a night together instead — just the two of you, alone — and you refused. You weren’t smiling, laughing like before, and when you did, it was hollow, forced. He could see it—the way your eyes didn’t crinkle, how your laugh ended too abruptly, how it lacked the warmth it used to have.

He knew. Ash knew you weren’t fine.

He had tried subtle check-ins throughout the day—light, casual, nothing heavy—but you hadn’t answered. Hours passed, and he tried to convince himself it was fine, that maybe you just needed space. But every hour you didn’t respond tightened the knot in his chest, made his stomach turn with unease. He replayed moments, conversations, anything that might hint at what went wrong, what he could’ve done, what he hadn’t noticed.

Late at night, when the house had finally fallen silent, your call came through.

The phone buzzed sharply on his nightstand. He stirred under the covers, chest tightening, a mix of worry and anticipation twisting inside him. His fingers hovered over the phone, almost trembling, before grabbing it.