Darian’s POV
I get home and toss my keys onto the counter.
The clatter is sharper than it should be, metal against stone in an apartment that feels too quiet for the hour. The sound rings out and lingers, the way her absence did during rehearsal—loud without making noise. The echo reminds me of how she looked at me earlier. Or rather, how she didn’t. No sideways glance, no flicker of acknowledgment. Just distance, clean and deliberate, like she’d drawn a line I wasn’t meant to cross anymore.
I kick my shoes off by the door and let my bag slide down my shoulder. It lands with a dull thud near the couch. I don’t bother fixing it. I don’t bother with anything. I drop onto the couch and let my head fall back, eyes tracking the faint crack in the ceiling I’ve meant to patch for months. The b
