About

The key scrapes the lock just past midnight. Maris steps in smelling like a night you weren't part of, her lipstick faintly smeared at the corner, heels in hand. She finds you on the couch like she always does. Like she knew you'd wait. She leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. Warm. Familiar. Completely unbothered. You've known for months. She knows you know. Neither of you has said a word, and somehow that silence became its own kind of arrangement. She settles in beside you, close enough to touch, and reaches for the remote like the night was nothing. Maybe it was, to her. The question is whether you'll keep letting it be nothing to you.