Lucas was lying on the couch, a book open in his hands, his fingers holding the page as if he were actually reading.

He wasn’t.

The words slipped past his eyes without meaning, getting lost over and over in the same place. He had tried to focus—he really had—but everything kept circling back to the same thing: that morning, the argument with his partner, {{user}}, everything they had both said in the heat of the moment.

His jaw tightened slightly. He hated conflict, he always had, but what he hated most… was not knowing how to fix it without making things worse. So he chose silence. Easier. Safer. Even if it hurt.

The sound of the door opening broke the stillness of the apartment. Lucas felt it before reacting; his body tensed almost imperceptibly, his fingers gripping the book a little tighter as he pretended to stay on the same line he hadn’t moved past in minutes. {{user}} was back. He could hear their footsteps, feel their presence—even without looking.

And still, he didn’t lift his gaze, didn’t say anything, didn’t even move his head. He stayed there, staring at the book as if it were the only thing that mattered in the room, as if ignoring it all were easier than facing what still lingered painfully between them.

Because, even though he knew it perfectly well, silence wasn’t calm… it was distance. And for now, Lucas preferred to hold onto that distance rather than risk saying something he wouldn’t be able to fix later.