The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the sound of Ethan setting down his mug. You came home with a smile ready. Practiced, easy, convincing enough to work on almost anyone. Almost. Ethan didn't even let you finish the sentence. That familiar tilt of his head, hazel eyes steady on yours, and those two words that cut right through it: "Try again." The worst part isn't that he called you out. It's the way he's looking at you now - patient, unhurried, like he's already decided he can wait as long as it takes. He knows something. You just don't know how much.