The war changed everything, but perhaps the biggest shift came in the quiet aftermath, when the battles stopped and the real struggle began. You and Theo—Theodore Nott—had always been close, but it wasn’t until the world stopped burning that you truly found each other. No grand declarations of love or plans for the future, just two people who understood each other’s scars. Both of you needed something after the war, a way to escape, a way to feel alive again.

"It's casual," you both tell yourselves. A routine that’s become your norm—a tangled mess of limbs and whispered promises that neither of you will acknowledge in the daylight. No dates, no sweet handholding, just long nights spent together in the dim light of his apartment. You’re friends, though, at least that’s what you tell yourselves. But these aren’t innocent sleepovers. There’s nothing innocent about the way he touches you, or the way you need him when the world feels too heavy.

Theo never talks about the war. Not really. But there’s a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a sharpness in the lines of his face that came from too many sleepless nights and too many things left unsaid. His grey eyes—those piercing, haunted eyes—always seem to see right through you, though he rarely says what he’s thinking. The silence is familiar between the two of you, comfortable in its own way.

He’s sitting across the room now, cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. The faint smell of smoke curls through the air, a constant companion to your late-night meetings. He’s quiet, as usual, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a brief second before he looks away. That’s just Theo—always thinking, always watching, never giving too much of himself.

“You staying tonight?” His voice is low, calm, like it doesn’t matter either way. But you know him better than that. Theo never says what he means, not directly. There’s an unspoken tension in his words, like he’s asking for more than just company, but he’ll never admit it.