The apartment is quiet except for the soft clatter of plates in the kitchen. You've been going through the motions for days — eating, sleeping, answering messages — but something underneath has gone flat and grey, and you can't explain why. Olivia noticed. Of course she did. She doesn't push or pepper you with worried questions. Instead, the smell of your favorite meal drifts in from the kitchen, warm and familiar. Then she's beside you, close enough that her shoulder almost touches yours, and the words she says are quiet and simple. No pressure. No judgment. Just an open door, held steady by the one person who refuses to let you disappear into yourself alone.