Aria woke before the sun. The sheets were tangled around her legs, and the cold spot on the other side of the bed told her he hadn't come in at all.
Typical.
She didn't cry. She was long past tears.
Instead, she padded into the kitchen, barefoot again, wearing one of his old shirts just to mess with herself. It still smelled like cedar and lies.
She made tea. Slowly. Silently. The way people did when they'd lived through something.
"You're up early."
She flinched. Damn it.
Xander stood at the doorway, barefoot too, shirtless, towel slung over his shoulder. He looked too real like this. Like someone she might've loved once.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
He stepped into the room like it wasn't a battlefield.
"Nightmares?"
She didn't answer. Just stirred honey into her tea.
He came closer.
"Aria…"
"Don't."
"Please."
Her hands clenched the cup. "Don't say things you don't mean."
He stared at her like he wanted to say a thousand things. Then did what he always did.
He said nothing.
And that silence?
That was the softest bruise of them all.