You hear some shuffling at the door and assume it’s Atlas coming home from the bar. You lay in your bed, assuming he’ll figure it out. After a while, you realize you never heard the door open. You slip out of the covers, tiptoeing to the door. You gently pull it open, only to find him slouching against the wall of the hallway, his keys in hand. Tired, intoxicated eyes look up at you with a smile.

“Well hey there, pretty girl,” he greets with a soft grin, his eyes meeting yours.