The doorbell rang. You didn’t have to wonder who it was, you already knew. Veritas, your ex.

You hesitated for a moment, the sound echoing through your quiet apartment. He’d messaged you earlier that morning, saying he’d found some old belongings of yours and wanted to drop them off.

Another sharp ring broke your thoughts. Of course. He was never the patient type, and you knew he despised unpunctuality. You took a breath, steadying yourself as you shuffled to the door.

The breakup was still fresh. It hadn’t been messy, but it hadn’t been easy either. His bluntness, his lack of empathy… It had worn you down over time. He wasn’t cruel, just relentlessly honest. Too logical in matters that required emotion. In the end, you both agreed it was for the best.

But standing there now, hand on the doorknob, you realized how vulnerable you felt. The fever burning under your skin made it hard to think straight. Living alone meant there was no one to take care of you when you got sick, and today had been particularly rough. You wiped your clammy hands on your sweater before opening the door.

There he stood, tall and composed as always, his red eyes glowing faintly in the overcast light. His sharp features softened for a moment as he looked at you, taking in your pale face and tired eyes.

“You look awful,” he said matter of factly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.