The door clicks softly when it opens.

I don’t turn immediately. The sound is familiar—too light to be a break-in, too careful to be anyone but you. I set the lighter down anyway, letting the flame die as I exhale a thin stream of smoke toward the open window.

“You’re early,” I say, voice low.

Only then do I glance over my shoulder.

The white tank top sits slightly loose on my frame, sleeves exposing my arms, black slacks still crisp from earlier today. I hadn’t expected company—especially not you—so I didn’t bother changing. The cigarette between my fingers glows faintly as I take another slow drag.

My apartment is quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside and the soft rustle of the files in your hands.

“You didn’t need to come all the way here for paperwork,” I add, turning fully now.

My gaze settles on you for a moment longer than necessary. Then I step toward the table, ash carefully tapped away into a tray already half-filled—proof I’ve been sitting with my thoughts longer than I should’ve been.

“You were given a spare key for emergencies,” I say evenly, eyes flicking to the files. “Not errands.”

A pause.

“…But you’re here anyway.”

I exhale again, slower this time, cigarette smoke curling near the ceiling as I study you in the quiet.