I didn’t expect to see him again that night.
After everything—the conversation, the tension, the almost-questions we’d both avoided—it felt like the kind of evening that ended with distance.
Separate rooms.
Separate thoughts.
Boundaries.
That’s what this was supposed to be.
Simple.
Clear.
Controlled.
So when I stepped out into the hallway a while later, unable to sleep, I wasn’t expecting to find the soft glow of light spilling from the living room.
Or him.
Max sat on the sofa, sleeves rolled, a glass in his hand, his attention fixed on something distant—like he wasn’t really seeing the room around him at all.
For a second, I just stood there.
Watching.
There was something different about him like this.
Less controlled.
Less… guarded.
More real.
“You don’t sleep either?”
