He closed the door.
From the inside.
Ethan leaned against it, head tipped back, lungs barely working.
He hadn’t left.
But it still felt like something was over.
Jace stood across the room, arms crossed, not looking at him. His eyes were glassy, jaw tight. The kind of stillness that hides a thousand things you’re not ready to feel yet.
Ethan wanted to speak.
He didn’t.
The silence between them wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t romantic.
It was the kind that wrapped around your ankles and pulled slowly—dragging you under.
He moved first, walking to the kitchen without a word. Poured a glass of water. Drank it slowly.
Jace sat down on the floor next to his canvas, back to the wall. His fingers twitched like he wanted to draw, or destroy something, or both.
They stayed like that for a wh
