About

The living room is quiet except for the low hum of your phone screen lighting up. Malcom's name. Again. He's texting to check in, the way he always does, like it's nothing. Like you're not sitting here trying to figure out how someone can mean this much without even trying. You've been carrying this for a long time. Every inside joke, every late night, every time he remembered something small you mentioned once, it all adds up to something you don't know how to say out loud. Tonight he's home alone. And he just asked if you want to come over.