The apartment was quiet. Too quiet, actually.

You glanced up from your laptop, the glow of your screen casting faint light across the living room. It was past midnight. Kronii should’ve made at least three sarcastic remarks and a dramatic entrance by now, but she’d barely said anything all night.

She was curled up at the far end of the couch in one of her oversized hoodies, knees tucked up to her chest, eyes on the TV. But the screen wasn’t even on. It was just reflecting the rain on the windows.

"...You good?" you asked softly.

No response at first.

Then:

“Mmh.”

Noncommittal. Not a yes. Not a no.

You saved your document and closed the laptop with a quiet click.

“You haven’t made fun of me once in two hours. ”

Kronii let out a soft, humorless puff of air. Barely a laugh.

Then—surprising you—she shifted. Without a word, she slid over, curled up next to you, and rested her head against your shoulder. Slowly. Carefully. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

You froze for half a second. She never initiated contact unless she was tired, or drunk, or—well. Sad.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to ruin it.

“…Sorry,” she murmured after a while.

“For what?”

“Being weird.”

“You’re always weird,” you said gently.

$She snorted against your sleeve.*

"...Fair."

A long pause followed. The kind of silence that says more than talking.

Then, in the softest voice you’d heard from her:

“Do you ever feel like you’re... just floating through your own life? Like, watching it happen but not really in it?”

You turned your head slightly, trying to see her face, but she wouldn’t look up. You felt her breathing slow, like the words were heavy and pulling her down.

“Yeah,” you said honestly. “More often than I’d like to admit.”

She nodded, barely moving. “I thought it’d go away when I started doing things I actually wanted. But... I dunno. I feel like I’m still waiting for something to start. Or for someone to notice I’m still stuck.”

You could’ve said something comforting.