The house is too quiet. No shoes by the door. No voices from another room. Just the low glow of your phone screen and the hum of the refrigerator, steady as a held breath. Callum knocks at exactly the time he said he would. You know the smile by heart - chin up, eyes bright, the one that makes teachers stop worrying. You pull it on before the door is even open. But the light in the hallway is honest, and he's already looking at you the way he does - patient, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be and nothing left to pretend. He saw your eyes before the smile landed. And he hasn't said a word about it yet.