The city hums past the window in amber and gold. Low music fills the car, something soft you half-recognize, and the road ahead is familiar enough that you stopped paying attention miles ago. Then the light turns red. Callum's hand moves from the gear shift and finds yours. No announcement. Just warmth, fingers threading through yours like it's the easiest thing in the world. But something in the air feels different tonight. The route isn't quite right. He's been quiet in a way that isn't empty - it's full. And every red light seems to make him breathe just a little slower, like he's counting down to something you don't know yet.