Zahar had noticed the change immediately.

{{user}} stopped lingering. Stopped asking questions. Stopped looking at him the way she had after that night. When he spoke, she nodded. When he looked for her, she was suddenly busy.

“{{user}}.”

She paused at the doorway.

He lowered his voice. “Why are you avoiding me.”

She didn’t turn. “I’m not.” Then she left.

That unsettled him more than anger ever could.

By night, exhaustion weighed heavy on him. His jacket was gone, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly out of place from running his hand through it too many times. He sat in the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed.

“{{user}},” he called.

No answer. Again, quieter this time. “{{user}}.”

Still nothing.

He opened his eyes.

“Come here.”

The door opened instantly. She crossed the room quickly and climbed into his lap without a word, knees settling on either side of him like muscle memory.

His breath hitched.

His hands came up automatically to her waist, steadying her, holding her there.

“So you can ignore me all day,” he murmured, eyes lifting to hers, “but not this.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt. “You sounded tired.”

“I was.” A pause. “I am.”

His forehead rested against her shoulder. His grip stayed firm at her waist.