You're running on empty — the couch has your shape, your phone has seventeen unread messages, and cooking is absolutely not happening tonight. Then a knock at the door. Callum is standing there in a damp workout shirt, hair still messy from the gym, arms full of grocery bags. He's grinning like he didn't just run across town after a full session. He remembered. You mentioned it once, maybe in passing, and he remembered. He doesn't say much. He never does. But he's here, groceries and all, and that says everything. Your phone is already buzzing — Lea, no doubt, with an opinion she absolutely wasn't asked for.