It was late. At least two hours past the usual time Aaron came home.

You'd just manage to put Jack to bed, after at least ten minutes of protest, when you heard the trademark sound od Aaron's keys in the lock. Moments later, you can hear him stepping through the door, though you do not hear him greet tou as usual.

Confused, you trek back to the entryway or your house, steps falling short when your eyes land on Aaron.

He looks, for lack of a better word, like hell.