Morning came like it always did.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Unapologetic.
Smyle woke up alone.
That was the first thing he noticed.
The couch was empty. The blanket folded neatly at the corner, as if no one had ever slept there. No warmth. No sign that the night before had mattered at all.
He sat up slowly, chest tight.
Of course, he thought.
Why would it matter?
He stood, padding toward the dining area—half expecting to see Rayden there, injured, resting.
Instead—
Rayden stood near the window, fully dressed, coat on, phone pressed to his ear.
"Move the meeting to ten," he said calmly.
"No excuses."
He ended the call and turned.
Their eyes met.
For half a second, Smyle thought he saw it—
That softness from last night.
Then it vanished.
"Good morning," Rayden said, voice neutral.
Smyle blinked. "You're… leaving?"
"Yes."
Just one word. No explanation.
Smyle swallowed. "Your wound—"
"It's handled."
Handled.
Like a task.
Like a file closed.
Smyle felt something sink inside his chest.
"Oh," he said quietly. "Okay."
Rayden adjusted his cufflinks. "Thank you for last night."
Smyle looked up sharply.
"For helping," Rayden clarified. "It was… efficient."
Efficient.
That word hurt more than silence.
"I didn't do it as a job," Smyle said before he could stop himself.
Rayden paused.
Just slightly.
Then: "I know."
But his tone didn't change.
No warmth.
No acknowledgment.
No stay.
Rayden grabbed his coat.
"We'll attend the fundraiser this weekend," he added. "Prepare accordingly."
Smyle's jaw tightened. "So that's it?"
Rayden met his gaze. "That's always been it."
The air felt colder.
"You don't need to stay alert for me," Rayden said again—controlled, distant.
"That was unnecessary."
Unnecessary.
Smyle nodded once. "Right. Won't happen again."
Rayden hesitated at the door.
For just one moment, his hand tightened on the handle.
Then—
"Good," he said.
And left.
The door closed with a soft, final click.
Smyle stood there long after.
Not crying.
Not shaking.
Just staring at the space Rayden had occupied—feeling stupid for ever thinking the night meant something.
He exhaled slowly and whispered to the empty room:
"Noted."
Smyle didn't go back to bed.
He stood there for a long time, then walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. His hands were steady. That surprised him.
Last night, he had been shaking.
Last night, he had cried without realizing it.
That was a mistake.
He drank slowly, eyes unfocused.
The house felt larger without Rayden's presence—
not emptier, just colder. Like a place that didn't belong to him.
Smyle changed into casual clothes and picked up his bag. University awaited. Life awaited. A world that existed outside contracts and blood-stained shirts.
At the door, he paused.
The lock clicked open smoothly this time.
No warning.
No explanation.
He smiled faintly at that irony and stepped outside.
University was loud.
Too loud.
His friends noticed immediately.
"Whoa," one of them said, squinting at him. "Why do you look like you didn't sleep?"
"I slept," Smyle replied easily.
Another laughed. "Married life exhausting already?"
Someone nudged him playfully. "You're literally a cute wife now."
Smyle chuckled at the right moment.
Not too much.
Not too little.
"I should charge rent for this face," he said lightly.
They laughed. The topic moved on.
No one noticed that he didn't mention Rayden even once.
Later, Ohm caught up with him near the hallway.
"You okay?" Ohm asked, studying him. "You're quieter."
Smyle shrugged. "Just busy."
Ohm smirked. "Busy being married to a terrifying CEO?"
Smyle smiled—real this time. "Something like that."
It felt… good.
Not the teasing itself—but that Ohm didn't look at him with concern. Didn't lower his voice. Didn't ask if he was safe.
This is better, Smyle thought.
Normal is better.
Classes passed smoothly. He answered questions. Took notes. Laughed when appropriate.
He was good at this.
On the way home, he called his mother.
Her voice filled the car warmly.
"Did you eat properly?" she asked immediately.
Smyle smiled. "Yes, Mom."
"And studying well?"
"Yes."
"And your—" she hesitated. "Married life?"
Smyle looked out the window. "It's… fine."
That was true.
Fine didn't mean happy.
Fine meant manageable.
"You sound tired," she said gently.
"I'm okay," Smyle replied. "I promise."
She hummed softly. "Come visit when you can."
"I will."
He hung up feeling lighter.
Home greeted him with silence.
Too much silence.
"Rayden?" Smyle called out instinctively.
No answer.
His steps slowed.
He checked the living room. The study. The bedroom.
Nothing.
His chest tightened before he could stop it.
He said he'd come back.
Smyle pulled out his phone.
No messages.
No missed calls.
He dialed.
Ringing.
Ringing.
No answer.
"It's fine," Smyle muttered, forcing calm. "He's busy."
He sent a message.
Where are you?
No reply.
He changed his clothes, movements growing sharper, quicker. His foot tapped against the floor without him noticing.
Another call.
Voicemail.
His fingers curled around the phone.
Why does this matter so much? he scolded himself.
He didn't promise anything.
He walked to the door.
Locked.
He frowned and tried again.
Locked.
"Why is it locked?" he whispered.
Another call.
No answer.
Another message.
Are you coming home?
The room felt smaller now.
Smyle leaned his forehead against the door, breathing shallowly—not panicking yet, but close enough that it scared him.
"Don't," he murmured to himself. "Don't start."
But his worry kept growing, quietly, relentlessly—
And somewhere far away, Rayden was still unaware
that the wall Smyle rebuilt today
was stronger than the one he'd broken last night.
Smyle didn't wait for Rayden at the door like a man who is worried for someone.He returned to his room and did his assignments. Had dinner. Washed dishes. Did everything without worries. It felt like the warmth they created in some days faded like a light fades when sun sets . The teases , the little laugh , the care , it all faded . He didn't call rayden after he tried sometimes, didn't messeged him , he actually felt like after the grand breakdown last night... The things were same as before no care .