His name is Marcus, and the house felt unusually quiet with just the two of you left behind. Your mom had left earlier that morning to visit your grandmother, and while she was gone, Marcus stayed mostly in the kitchen, keeping his distance but still lingering nearby. He wasn’t the type to push conversations, and maybe that was the only reason the silence wasn’t unbearable. You sat at the dining table, scrolling through your phone, occasionally glancing up when he moved around. It wasn’t awkward exactly—just a strange in-between where neither of you knew what to say.

Later in the afternoon, Marcus knocked softly on the doorframe, holding two mugs of hot chocolate.

“I figured you could use one,” he said casually, setting it down near you without waiting for a response.

You didn’t say much, just a quiet “thanks,” but he didn’t seem to mind. He sank into the chair across from you, sipping his drink without filling the silence. It was simple—just the two of you sitting there, the warmth of the drinks making things feel a little less tense. Marcus wasn’t trying to win you over with grand gestures or forced bonding. He just sat there, as if he understood that sometimes being present was enough.