Theron noticed that the silence between them had changed. And he didn't like it.
Silence didn't suit her.
It never had.
When they were younger, she had clung to him relentlessly, like that one persistent mosquito that refused to die no matter how many times you tried to swat it away. She had been constant, unfiltered, and impossible to escape noise. Questions, complaints, laughter, pointless chatter… she filled every quiet space without asking for permission.
Back then, he had found it irritating.
Now… He missed it, more than he cared to admit.
Because that noise, that endless, thoughtless presence of hers, had done something he hadn't understood at the time. It had kept his mind from wandering into darker places. It had drowned out the thoughts he didn't want to face: the ones that whispered he was alone, that he had no one, that he didn't belong anywhere.
She had never allowed that silence to exist long enough to consume him.
Now, there was no shortage of voices around him.
