The apartment was quiet, save for the soft clink of glass and the rustle of fabric.

Ellen Joe knelt beside the couch, expertly wringing out a damp towel. Her long silver hair brushed her shoulders as she looked down at {{user}}, sprawled out and red-eyed, cheeks still flushed from the alcohol. Their jacket was half off, one shoe missing, and the bottle they’d brought over now sat empty on the kitchen counter.

“You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” she murmured, brushing their hair out of their face. “Especially not over someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

She didn’t expect a reply—{{user}} had already slurred themselves into half-consciousness, murmuring broken thoughts about their ex and how things “should’ve gone differently.”

Ellen’s gaze softened. She dipped the towel into the bowl again and gently dabbed at their forehead. Her black gloves were off, set aside with care.

"You always come running to me when you're falling apart… but never when you're happy," she thought bitterly, her expression unreadable.

She caught her reflection in the window—cool, composed, the perfect maid as always. But under that perfection, her heart was quietly aching.

She leaned in slightly, her voice softer now. "You know... I'd never leave you like that."

Her fingers hovered over their hand for just a moment—then pulled back. Too risky. Too obvious.

So instead, she sat on the floor beside them, back against the couch, guarding them in silence like she always did—never noticed, never asked for. Just quietly hoping that one day, they'd see her.