Ethan reached Gabriel's apartment just as the hallway lights flickered on.
He knocked once.
Nothing.
He checked his phone. No messages. No missed calls.
Just the quiet confirmation that Gabriel was probably still buried in work, sleeves rolled up, mind elsewhere.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
The spare key was still where Gabriel had said it would be.
Inside, the apartment greeted him with familiar warmth—too quiet, slightly messy.
The air smelled faintly of tea and paper and something metallic from the workshop corner.
Ethan shut the door softly behind him.
He dropped onto the tiny couch, sinking into it like it already knew him.
The cushions creaked in protest. He leaned back, stared at the ceiling, and let the silence wrap around him.
"Still not home huh," he murmured, more fond than annoyed.
After a moment, he stood and wandered toward the bedroom.
The door was half open.
Inside, it was chaos—but a very specific kind.
