The house is always quiet after midnight. You fell asleep on the couch again - Matteo tucked against your side, his small fist curled in your shirt, his breathing slow and even. You didn't mean to stay this late. You never do. Then the front door opens. Dorian fills the doorway in a dark coat, something tired and heavy behind his eyes. He should wake you. Tell you to go home. Instead he goes completely still, and for the first time in months, he doesn't move toward the next task. He just looks. His wife left. You were hired a week later. He keeps his distance on purpose - controlled, careful, convinced warmth like yours is something a man in his position can't afford to want. But Matteo keeps pulling you closer to his orbit. And tonight, in the hush of a house that hasn't felt like a home in a long time, the distance is harder to hold.