The house felt smaller that morning.
—
Or maybe it was just him.
—
Christopher stood near the doorway, his bag resting by his feet.
—
His mother hovered nearby.
—
Not too close.
—
Not too far.
—
"Are you sure you have everything?" she asked.
—
He nodded.
—
"I checked twice."
—
She hesitated.
—
Her hands moved slightly, like she wanted to fix something
—
his collar, his hair, anything.
—
But she didn't.
—
"You can still call me if you need anything," she said softly.
—
"I know."
—
A small smile.
—
Gentle.
—
Reassuring.
—
The kind he always gave.
—
But it didn't quite reach his eyes.
—
—
Behind them
—
—
Oliver stood by the wall.
—
Quiet.
—
Watching.
—
Christopher felt it without turning.
—
That familiar weight.
—
That presence.
—
"…You're leaving early," Oliver said.
—
His voice was calm.
—
Normal.
—
Too normal.
—
Christopher glanced at him.
—
"Traffic," he replied.
—
A simple answer.
—
Nothing more.
—
—
Oliver smiled faintly.
—
"Right."
—
Just one word.
—
But it lingered.
—
—
For a moment
—
—
no one spoke.
—
—
Then Christopher reached for his bag.
—
"I'll go now."
—
His mother nodded quickly.
—
Too quickly.
—
"Take care of yourself."
—
"I will."
—
—
He didn't look at Oliver again.
—
—
But he could feel his eyes on him.
—
Even as he stepped outside.
—
Even as the door closed behind him.
—
—
The air felt different.
—
Lighter.
—
—
Christopher paused for a second.
—
Just a second.
—
—
Then he exhaled.
—
Slowly.
—
—
It felt like something had loosened.
—
—
Not gone.
—
—
But loosened.
—
—
—
The apartment was quiet.
—
Too quiet.
—
—
When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence greeted him like something unfamiliar.
—
No footsteps.
—
No voice calling his name.
—
No presence behind him.
—
—
Just space.
—
—
Christopher set his bag down carefully.
—
Looked around.
—
—
It was small.
—
Simple.
—
Bare.
—
—
But it was his.
—
—
For the first time
—
—
it was his.
—
—
He walked further in, slow, almost unsure.
—
Like the silence might break if he moved too fast.
—
—
He sat on the edge of the bed.
—
—
Waited.
—
—
For something.
—
—
Nothing came.
—
—
No one entered.
—
No one spoke.
—
—
Just quiet.
—
—
His shoulders lowered slightly.
—
—
"…It's okay," he murmured.
—
Soft.
—
Almost like he was convincing himself.
—
—
A small breath left him.
—
—
Then another.
—
—
And for a moment
—
—
just a moment
—
—
Christopher felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
—
—
Peace.
—
—
It wasn't complete.
—
—
There was still something lingering.
—
A habit.
—
A thought.
—
—
He glanced at the door.
—
—
Half-expecting it to open.
—
—
It didn't.
—
—
Silence answered instead.
—
—
Christopher looked away.
—
—
"…I'll be fine," he whispered.
—
—
And this time
—
—
he almost believed it.