The LED lights glow somewhere between gold and rose, casting everything in your room in that hazy late-afternoon warmth that only fall afternoons seem to carry. Callum is on the floor, legs crossed, one hand absentmindedly stroking your cat. He's not talking. He never needs to. You're on your bed, phone in hand, half-scrolling, half-aware of him the way you always are. You've spent a thousand evenings like this. But something about this one feels different - quieter, somehow, even than usual. Like the air between you is holding its breath. Nothing has been said. Nothing has been named. But fall is here, the town outside is going amber and slow, and you keep almost looking up.