The rehearsal room felt colder today — not in temperature, but in tone.
Zane stretched his arms over his head with a yawn. "Guess Axel's working a freelance gig again?" he said casually, glancing around as he tuned his guitar.
Laura didn't respond right away.
When he looked up, he saw her staring down at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen like she wasn't sure whether to send something or not. Her expression was pinched. Distant.
Zane's casual mood shifted. "You haven't heard from him?"
Laura finally looked up. "No. Not since yesterday morning."
That was… strange. Axel was known for disappearing after rehearsal — not skipping it. He was punctual. Reliable. Predictable, even.
Sunny paused mid-warmup, glancing toward them. "He didn't text you either?"
Laura shook her head, setting her phone down on the amp case beside her. "Nothing. He's not replying to messages either."
The three exchanged a look.
The mood in the studio dropped like a curtain.
---
The soft whirr of amps powering up. A synth pad droning in the background as Laura fiddles with a few chords on her keyboard.
Zane sat cross-legged on the floor, adjusting the settings on his pedalboard. "Guess Axel's working another freelance thing?" he offered, half-curious, half-unbothered.
Laura didn't answer right away. Her fingers lingered over her phone screen, unmoving. Her shoulders were stiff, gaze unfocused.
Zane looked up. "Laura?"
She blinked like she'd just realized someone spoke. "Huh? Oh—yeah. Probably. You know him. Always has five projects going on at once."
But her voice lacked conviction. Too clipped. The usual calm lilt was off.
The room seemed to exhale — soundless but heavy.
Zane furrowed his brows. "That's not like him."
"He probably just got busy," Laura added quickly, too quickly. "Might be helping a friend. Or holed up somewhere working on one of his soundscapes."
She tried to laugh — a light, breathy chuckle — but it didn't land. There was a faint crack in her voice, like something paper-thin trying to hold its shape.
Zane's jaw tightened. He leaned against the wall, arms folded. "He didn't mention anything yesterday?"
"No."
That single syllable echoed louder than the music equipment around them.
Sunny stood, dusted her hands off, and offered a faint smile. "I'm gonna grab something from the vending machine. Anyone want anything?"
Neither of them responded.
She slipped out quietly, arms hugging herself once the studio door clicked shut. The hallway was colder than she remembered — or maybe that was just in her head. At the vending machine, she hesitated, fingers hovering over the buttons.
Chips? Gummies? Those jelly sticks Axel liked?
She selected a handful of snacks anyway, even if no one asked. Something about holding food in her arms felt grounding — a small ritual to keep her nerves from spiraling.
---
Back inside, she set the snacks gently on a nearby amp case and pulled out her phone.
No new stories. No posts. No messages.
Nothing on Axel's feed since a blurry photo of his cat, timestamped yesterday morning.
Laura noticed her looking. "Anything?"
Sunny shook her head slowly. "He hasn't been online."
Zane finally stood up, pacing a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "This doesn't feel right. I mean… Axel's the one who always shows up. Even if he's late. Even if it's just to say he's leaving early."
Silence.
Laura picked at the label on her water bottle. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "…He didn't seem like himself lately."
Zane looked over. "What do you mean?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. Just a feeling."
Sunny sat down slowly beside her, unwrapping a snack without eating it. She handed one to Laura, who accepted it wordlessly.
Nobody said what they were all thinking.
---
The light through the studio windows had dulled, clouded over like the mood in the room. The usual buzz of warm-up notes and mic checks had long faded.
Zane paced near the back wall, phone in hand, flicking through messages he already knew wouldn't answer.
Sunny sat cross-legged next to Laura on the bench, staring at the snack bag. Her appetite absent.
Zane finally broke the silence. "Laura."
She looked up slowly.
He hesitated, then asked, "Have you… been to his place lately?"
Laura nodded after a pause. "Yesterday morning. I dropped off his mic stand. He was home."
Zane leaned in a little. "Did he seem okay?"
Her eyes darted away. "Not really. He was distracted. Didn't say much. I thought maybe he just pulled an all-nighter again."
Sunny's brows furrowed. "He didn't say where he'd be today?"
"No."
Zane exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to overreact, but… maybe we should check on him. Just to be sure."
Laura didn't answer right away. But when she did, her voice was softer. "Yeah. I think… I'd feel better if we did."
Zane nodded, already reaching for his jacket. "Let's go. You know the code to his building?"
Laura pulled out her phone, thumb trembling slightly as she texted something.
"I'll check. He changes it sometimes. But yeah… I've been there enough."
Sunny grabbed her own coat, eyes wide with worry. "I'll come too."
Zane glanced at her, then gave a small, grateful nod. "Let's go."
As they headed for the door, Laura lingered for a second, glancing back at the empty studio — the silent keyboard, the untouched setlist.
Something about the stillness was too loud.
---
The three of them stood at the foot of a narrow, ivy-lined stairwell that led to a modest second-floor apartment. The city buzzed quietly around them — distant traffic, a barking dog, someone's music leaking from a nearby balcony.
But up here, everything felt still.
Zane knocked first. Not too hard. Not too soft. Just enough.
No answer.
He glanced at Laura, who stepped forward and gave a second knock — louder this time. "Axel?" she called. "It's us. Just checking in."
Still nothing.
Sunny shifted beside them, hugging her arms around herself as a breeze passed. "Maybe he went out for groceries?"
Laura frowned. "He doesn't grocery shop during the day. Always says that's prime editing hours."
Zane turned the doorknob, half-hoping it might swing open.
It didn't.
"He's definitely not home," he said, stepping back.
Laura glanced at the windows. The blinds were down, no signs of movement inside. "He left his plant trays out," she murmured. "He always pulls them in when he leaves for more than a day."
Zane looked to her. "So… what? He stepped out recently?"
"Or didn't plan to be gone long."
Sunny's voice came gently, like a thought she didn't want to say out loud: "Then why isn't he answering?"
They stood there for a moment — three friends, motionless at a door that wasn't opening, each of them turning over silent worries behind their eyes.
Zane rubbed the back of his neck. "We could leave a note. Ask him to call."
Laura didn't respond right away. Her gaze lingered on the doormat — slightly crooked — and the umbrella leaned carefully against the wall.
"No," she said quietly. "I want to try one more place."
Zane tilted his head. "Where?"
She met his eyes. "His old rehearsal room. The one he used to go to before we formed the Trio."
Zane blinked. "You think he'd go there?"
"I don't know," Laura admitted. "But it's one of the places where he used to disappear when he needed to… breathe."
Zane looked to Sunny. She nodded.
"Let's go."
---
Laura led the way, her pace just a little faster than usual. She didn't speak much during the walk, and the few times Zane tried to fill the silence with idle chatter, she only gave distracted hums in response.
Inside her head, it was anything but quiet.
Axel had been… fading. Not in the physical sense — he still showed up, still played, still smiled when someone needed it. But there was something behind his eyes lately. Something distant. Unreachable.
She hadn't pressed. Axel didn't like being cornered. He always carried his burdens like armor — calmly, quietly, like they weren't even there.
But she saw it.
In the way he forgot chords mid-practice. The times he'd check his phone, then stare at it like he'd forgotten what he was looking for. The way his jokes didn't land because he wasn't really present to tell them.
Zane hadn't noticed. Sunny maybe did, in that quiet, perceptive way of hers — but she respected boundaries too much to say anything.
But Laura had known Axel the longest. And she knew when something was wrong.
---
They reached the building. Old brick, ivy growing up its sides, weathered door. She slowed, holding a breath she didn't realize she'd taken.
Sunny looked up at the worn sign over the entrance. "Is this really it?"
"Yeah," Laura said. "It's where he used to go when he needed time alone. Before we even became a group, this was his retreat."
Zane stepped up beside her, gently placing a hand on the doorknob. "You sure about this?"
"No," she admitted. "But I hope."
He pushed the door open.
---
The faint creak of the door echoed through the quiet space. Dust hung in the air, caught in amber light from the tall windows. Instruments still sat in the corners — unused, out of tune — like memories preserved in glass.
And there, near the old upright piano in the center of the room—
Axel.
Sitting on the bench, back to them. Hands idle on his lap. The keys untouched.
His head turned slightly at the sound of the door. And when he saw them, his expression froze — guilt, surprise, and fatigue all tangled in one.
Laura stepped in first. "Axel…"
He looked down again, almost ashamed. "Didn't think you'd come here."
Zane and Sunny followed slowly, hesitant.
Laura didn't wait. She crossed the space in a few firm steps and sat down beside him on the bench, eyes forward.
"You weren't at rehearsal. We got worried."
"I needed to think," he murmured. "This was the only place I could."
Zane folded his arms, tension coiled in his jaw. "Are you okay?"
Axel took a long pause before answering.
"…I don't know."
And it was the honesty in that — not the words — that made Laura's chest ache.
---
The silence after Axel's quiet "I don't know" was heavy — not awkward, but thick with something unspoken.
Laura glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Axel…"
Zane stepped forward, voice gentler now. "Is it something we can help with?"
Axel didn't answer right away.
Instead, he looked down at his hands. Calloused fingertips. Restless fingers. Hands that had always been moving, playing, creating.
Now… still.
Finally, in a voice more fragile than they'd ever heard from him, he said, "My dad died."
The words didn't echo, but they might as well have. Laura stiffened. Sunny blinked, startled. Even Zane was momentarily at a loss.
Axel kept staring forward, avoiding their eyes. "Heart attack. A week ago."
"A week…?" Laura's voice cracked softly. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't know. My mom didn't call me until two days ago." He let out a hollow laugh — not bitter, just tired. "By then it was over. Already buried."
No one spoke.
He rubbed at his brow. "He… never really wanted me. Not as a son. Not as anything, really. He was just… there. Distant. Cold. You know?"
Zane gave a slow nod, eyes heavy.
"I always told myself I wouldn't care when he died," Axel continued. "That it wouldn't matter. That I'd just… move on. But now that it's real—"
He stopped, voice catching.
Laura reached out, gently resting her hand over his.
Axel swallowed. "I feel like I'm grieving someone I didn't even love. Or maybe grieving what could've been. I don't know. It's all just… tangled."
Sunny quietly knelt nearby, offering him a small bottle of water she'd bought earlier from the vending machine. He gave her a grateful look, then stared down at it.
"I didn't mean to scare anyone," he said. "I just… didn't want to talk. Didn't know how."
Laura finally leaned her head against his shoulder.
"You don't have to know how," she said softly. "But you don't have to go through it alone, either."
Zane added, "You were there for me. For all of us. Let us be here for you now."
Axel didn't respond right away. But the tension in his shoulders slowly eased. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and let the comfort sink in.
Then, finally:
"…Thanks."
---
The sun filtered gently through the trees as they made their way down the quieter streets outside Axel's apartment building. The world felt hushed — the type of silence that wasn't empty, but comforting in its simplicity. Every so often, a breeze stirred the leaves, brushing against their skin like a sigh.
Axel walked in the middle, shoulders slightly hunched, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Zane and Sunny lingered a step ahead, giving space without making it obvious. Laura matched his pace exactly, her steps slow and quiet beside him. Their hands didn't touch, but they hovered close — warm proximity that neither crossed nor pulled away from.
For a long time, no one spoke. Just the soft rhythm of shoes on pavement, the occasional hum of a passing car. It was Axel who broke the silence first.
"Sorry for letting you see me like this," he murmured, eyes still on the path ahead.
Laura turned slightly toward him, her voice calm but firm. "Like what?"
He hesitated. "Not put-together. Not… solid."
She slowed a little, and so did he. "Axel… I've seen you tired. I've seen you grumpy, and hyper-focused, and half-asleep at rehearsal. You think this is the first time I've seen you human?"
That earned the smallest smile from him — faint, but real.
"It's okay to fall apart," she said gently. "Even if you're the one everyone leans on."
He didn't say anything, but his hand shifted — fingers brushing lightly against hers. Not a grab. Not a request. Just a question.
She answered without words, linking their pinkies together.
A few steps back, Zane glanced back and gave Sunny a small smile. She smiled too — soft, quiet, full of affection.
The four of them kept walking, steady and unhurried, as if the air was lighter now. Axel's shoulders lifted slightly. Not all the way, but enough. Enough to keep going.
---
They reached a small park tucked between apartment blocks — one of those hidden pockets of calm that only locals knew. The benches were warm from the sun, and the breeze was picking up. Zane and Sunny sat a little ways off, sipping iced drinks they'd picked up earlier. Axel and Laura remained by the railing, looking out at the greenery, shoulders brushing lightly now.
Axel exhaled slowly. "My dad… he wasn't cruel. Just… distant. Uninterested. I was more like a shadow in the house than a son. When I left home, it was like I just… evaporated from their lives."
Laura stayed quiet, letting him speak.
"I didn't feel much when my mom called. Just numb. And then it hit me, I guess." His gaze flickered toward her, then back out across the park. "That I was grieving something I never even had."
There was a pause. Just the wind. A bird overhead. Distant traffic.
Then Axel spoke again, quieter this time. "But… maybe that's okay. Maybe it's okay that I never connected with my parents. I found something better." He looked over his shoulder — at Zane and Sunny, sitting under a tree, talking softly. Then back at Laura.
"You three."
Laura blinked. And from the tree, Sunny's head turned — as if she'd felt something shift in the air. She caught the words, just barely, and her eyes widened. She smiled, watery-eyed, brushing at one quickly.
Zane, watching her, murmured, "What is it?"
Sunny shook her head, sniffling a little. "Nothing. Just… Axel being Axel."
Zane looked over at his friend and gave him a nod — no words needed.
Back at the railing, Laura slipped her hand into Axel's fully.
And this time, he held it tight.
---
After walking through the city, they ended up at the botanical gardens — tucked away behind a museum, lush and filled with soft trails and shaded benches. It was quiet, warm, and smelled faintly of jasmine and sun-soaked leaves.
Axel didn't say much as they entered, but he didn't resist either. Laura walked beside him, their fingers still lightly intertwined. Sunny flitted a few steps ahead, pausing now and then to point out unusual flowers or read the little signposts aloud.
They didn't talk about the rehearsal. Or music. Or grief. Just… little things. The sound of a bee buzzing lazily by. The koi fish gathering under the wooden bridge. The way the light streamed through a glass dome filled with tropical plants.
At one point, they found a bench under a willow tree. Axel sat down with a soft exhale, rubbing his eyes — not from tears, just tiredness. The kind that settles deep in your bones. Laura settled next to him.
Sunny handed him a folded napkin with half a muffin she'd saved. Small gesture, but it meant something.
"Thanks," he murmured. His voice was hoarse but steady.
They stayed like that for a while. Together, but not demanding anything from one another.
Later, Axel finally broke the quiet. "You know, I think my dad would've hated this place."
Sunny laughed softly. "That's kind of why it's perfect."
And he smiled. Really smiled. Just a little.
---
Returning to Axel's place, the quiet warmth of the day still lingered around them. The walk back had been mostly silent, but not heavy. Just… thoughtful. Laura hadn't left his side — not once — and Axel, though not the most vocal about emotions, appreciated it more than he knew how to say.
As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of his apartment hit him — books, vinyl, and something faintly herbal from the tea he forgot to clean up two days ago.
Then, a soft sound.
From the living room, his lazy old cat — a mottled, long-haired stray he'd taken in years ago — stirred from her corner bed. She was ancient by now, always curled up somewhere, only occasionally bothering to move for food or sunbeams. But now, she stood, stretched, and padded over to him.
Axel blinked.
"Wow," he muttered. "You're alive."
Laura laughed gently as the cat rubbed herself against his leg and let out a scratchy little meow. She hadn't greeted him like this in months.
"She missed you," Laura said softly, crouching down to scratch behind the cat's ear.
"She's too old to miss anything," he said, but he crouched too — hand trailing through her fur — and his voice betrayed something else. Fondness. Surprise. A flicker of comfort.
For a moment, the three of them — Axel, Laura, and the streetwise old cat — just sat there in the front hallway. No grand declarations. No music. Just home.
And maybe, for the first time in days, Axel felt like he could breathe again.
---
The room was dim and warm, lit only by the glow of the TV and the soft clinking of utensils from the kitchen. A muted film played — something Axel wasn't really watching, the dialogue blending with his thoughts, the images blurring in and out of focus. He was sprawled across the couch, shirt a little wrinkled, hair tousled, a half-finished bottle resting on the low table beside him. He hadn't meant to drink this much… but grief had a way of loosening old restraints.
In the kitchen, Laura moved quietly. She didn't usually cook for others — not often — and definitely not with spice. But she knew Axel liked his food with a kick, so she tried. Something simple, something warm, something manageable. She stole glances toward the couch every so often, making sure he was still okay.
Then, just as she was about to plate the food, his voice drifted from the couch — low, slurred slightly, but not without clarity.
"You'd make the perfect wife…"
Laura froze, her hand pausing mid-motion.
"I mean it…" he mumbled, gaze half-lidded on the ceiling. "I don't say it enough. You just… you always show up. You've always been there. Ever since we met… seven years ago now, right? Shit."
He let out a dry chuckle, barely a sound.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
Laura stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the plate now, her breath catching a little. She didn't speak right away. Just watched him for a moment — tired, vulnerable, but honest.
And though he might not even remember saying it in the morning… she would.
Quietly, she set the food down on the table and sat beside him. Not too close, but close enough that if he reached out, she'd be there.
"I'm here," she said softly.
She didn't know what else to say.
But maybe, for now, that was enough.
---
Axel stirred, groggy and disoriented. The TV still flickered softly in the background, but the movie he'd put on earlier was long gone — replaced by something calmer, quieter. One of those slow cooking shows that somehow made the room feel more peaceful.
His head throbbed faintly. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his face, only to spot the untouched plate of food beside him. Cold now, but thoughtfully plated — Laura's half already eaten, her fork resting neatly across the rim. His chest ached, but not from the alcohol this time.
She'd stayed.
The couch creaked as he shifted, looking around. "Laura?" he called, voice rough with sleep.
No answer.
Then he heard it — the sound of running water, a faint shuffle from behind the bathroom door. A sigh of quiet relief left his lungs. She hadn't left. Not yet.
He leaned back against the couch, letting the room settle around him. The cold food, the soft lights, the cat curled back into its corner bed like nothing had happened.
And in that stillness, he realized — even in grief, even when he wasn't at his best — she was there.
He didn't deserve that kind of loyalty. But he hoped, someday, he could earn it.
---
Laura stepped out of the bathroom, towel in hand, steam curling out behind her as the warm air met the cooler living room. Her hair was loosely pinned up, and she wore one of Axel's old T-shirts she'd borrowed — it hung off her frame casually, comfortably.
"I was just about to shower," she said, her voice soft, almost testing.
Axel looked up from the couch, blinking away sleep as his eyes settled on her. His throat bobbed as he sat up straighter.
"Oh," he managed, voice still gravelly. "Right. Yeah. Of course."
She stood there for a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the towel. Then, with a faint, almost teasing lift of her brow, she added:
"…Unless you want to join me."
Axel didn't answer at first. He just looked at her — really looked at her — and the haze of the day seemed to lift just a little. There was no smirk on his face, no swagger or charm. Just tired eyes that softened at the sight of her. And gratitude, deep and unspoken, that she was still here.
His voice, when it came, was low. Sincere.
"Yeah. I'd like that."
---
Steam clung to the tiled walls as the warm water poured over them, muffling the rest of the world into a distant hush. At first, neither said anything — just the quiet rustle of movement as they stepped under the stream, the heat sinking into tired muscles and sore hearts.
Axel stood still for a moment, eyes closed, letting the water run over his face. Laura reached for the shampoo, her fingers brushing his shoulder as she passed, and that simple touch made him open his eyes again. He turned to face her — the soft mist catching in her lashes, her skin flushed gently from the heat. She looked calm, but something flickered in her gaze when she met his.
He reached out, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks… for staying," he murmured.
Laura didn't respond with words. She stepped closer, her hand settling lightly on his chest. There was a pause — a breath, a moment hanging in stillness — and then he leaned in, slow, hesitant, until their lips finally met.
What began as a quiet kiss deepened with unspoken need. Fingers tangled in hair, bodies pulling close, the heat of the shower blurring the line between comfort and longing. The weight of everything — his grief, her worry, the days spent in silence — melted between their mouths.
It wasn't hurried or frantic, but there was a quiet hunger in it. A desperate kind of tenderness that came from needing something to hold onto. To feel alive. To feel loved.
And for a while, there was no sadness. Just the sound of water, shared breath, and the warmth of each other.
---
Laura wasn't a stranger to numbness — she lived in it. It dulled everything: joy, sorrow, love. Most days, she moved through life as if wrapped in glass, watching feelings happen from the outside.
But tonight, Axel had joined her there.
His grief had flattened him, stripped him of his usual warmth. And as they moved together, slow and silent beneath the water's cascade, she felt it — that mirrored hollowness. Neither of them burning. Just… existing. Holding on to something they couldn't name.
In his arms, Laura wasn't alone in the emptiness for once. And that, strangely, made her feel less afraid of it.
Axel clung to her like she was the only solid thing left. His kisses were tender but quiet, desperate without force. She returned them with care, even as a small voice inside reminded her that something was still missing.
No electricity. No stars behind her eyes.
She wanted this — she wanted him — but her heart wouldn't follow. Not the way she hoped. Not the way he deserved.
Still, for now, this quiet intimacy was something. A bridge, maybe. A promise waiting to be made real.
So when Axel whispered her name against her temple, Laura whispered it back — soft, steady — and let herself believe, just for a moment, that this was enough.
---
The steam curled around them, soft and quiet, wrapping their bodies in a hazy cocoon. Water slid down their skin, mixing with the tension and grief neither of them knew how to name out loud.
Axel pressed his forehead against Laura's, eyes shut. "I don't want to be alone tonight," he said, barely audible above the hum of the shower.
"You're not," she whispered.
Their lips met again — slower this time, no urgency at first, just breath and touch. But something shifted. His fingers dug into her waist, anchoring himself. Hers slipped up his back, nails lightly raking, clinging. They weren't chasing fire, not really — just warmth. Contact. A reminder they were still here, still capable of feeling something, even in the fog.
The kiss deepened. Bodies pressed closer. Hands roamed — tentative, then firmer. Skin on skin, breath on breath.
Axel lifted her gently, and she wrapped her legs around him without breaking their kiss. There was no need for words. No need to ask. They both understood — this wasn't about passion or heat. It was about presence. Reassurance. Connection.
And when they moved together under the water's rhythm, it was quiet and slow, not rushed — a physical ache threaded with something tender. Something tired. They held on to each other like the world had fallen away, like grief could be softened, even just for a moment, through closeness.
There was no climax of emotion. No dramatic swell. Just two people who needed each other, moving through a shared stillness — the kind that only comes when you've both been numb for too long, and finally, for once, you're not numb alone.
---
Later, they lay curled beneath Axel's blanket, the room dim but warm. His lazy cat had returned to its usual perch by the window, purring softly in the distance. The only light came from the hallway — enough to cast a faint glow across the bedsheets, enough to remind them they were still here.
They didn't talk at first. Axel rested on his side, eyes half-shut but still awake. Laura lay beside him, one arm tucked under her pillow, her other hand resting gently on his chest — not possessively, but quietly, like an anchor.
Minutes passed. Then she spoke.
"Do you… remember what you told me earlier?"
Axel's brow furrowed slightly. "Earlier?" he murmured, voice low and hoarse from the evening's drinking and emotion. "When?"
"In the living room. You were… kind of out of it."
He blinked slowly, thinking. Tried to dig through the hazy fog in his head. But whatever she was referring to… he couldn't recall.
"…No," he admitted, his gaze flicking toward her. "Did I say something stupid?"
Laura hesitated. She considered brushing it off — pretending it didn't matter. But something in her chest, something quiet and stubborn, urged her forward.
"You said…" She paused, then swallowed. "You said I'd make the perfect wife."
Axel froze — not dramatically, not sharply. Just a small inhale, like he'd accidentally stepped into deeper waters than he realized.
His mouth parted as if to speak, but no words came right away. Laura gave a tiny shrug, trying to soften the weight of it.
"You were drunk," she added quickly. "Maybe you didn't mean it. I just… I remembered."
For a second, Axel was silent.
Then, softly: "No. I meant it."
Her breath caught.
He looked at her — really looked this time, eyes clearer than before. "I might not remember saying it," he continued, "but if I did… then I wasn't lying."
Laura didn't know what to say. Her throat felt tight.
So she simply nodded, shifted closer, and rested her head against his shoulder.
Neither of them spoke again that night. They just lay there, tangled in silence, in something halfway between comfort and confusion. A beginning… or maybe just another pause.
But for now, that was enough.