The condo sits in silence.
Not the peaceful kind. The waiting kind. The kind that holds its breath before something breaks.
I sink into the couch. My body heavy, my bones tired in ways sleep can't fix. I lean back—not sitting, not lounging, just… existing. My hands rest along the back of the couch, fingers loose, careless, like I've forgotten I have them. The leather is cool beneath my palms. Soft, comfortable.
The lights are dim. Almost dark. Shadowed corners. Hidden edges. Places where secrets feel safe.
Outside, the city sprawls beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows—a kingdom of glass and steel. Scattered lights flicker like fallen stars. Cars move along distant streets, tiny and silent, carrying people who have somewhere to go. Someone to come home to.
I stare at the ceiling.
The gold lights.
Only gold.
Same as—
No.
I close my eyes. But the color stays. Burned into the back of my lids.
Gold. Warm. Bright.
Same as his eyes.
