The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Yusuke furrowed his brow as he set down his paintbrush, eyes flicking toward the hallway outside his room. It wasn’t like the silence wasn’t welcome—it absolutely was. He’d gotten more done in the last hour than the entire past week combined. No pounding bass, no chaotic vocals echoing through the walls, no shouting of “It helps me focus, Yusuke, I swear!”

But… that was the problem.

You always had music on when you were working. It was part of your creative process—loud, frustratingly inconsistent, but undeniably yours.

And tonight? Not a sound.

After another few minutes of failing to focus, he finally stood and padded down the hallway, knocking on your door softly before cracking it open.

“Are you.. alive in here?” he asked, voice half-teasing, half-genuine.

You looked up from your desk, hunched over your project with your headphones pulled down around your neck—silent.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t in the mood for music today.”

Yusuke lingered in the doorway, eyes scanning you briefly. Your usual spark was a little dimmer—no bouncing to the beat, no foot tapping. Just quiet.

“Did something happen?”

You expected him to scold you for all the times you blasted music late at night or maybe toss in a sarcastic “finally, peace.” But he didn’t.