Fragile Housemates

The house is quiet in that late-afternoon way, golden light pooling on the worn living room carpet. Sam is curled at one end of the couch, knees pulled up, scrolling without seeing. Riley sits on the floor nearby, picking at a thread on the rug. The front door clicks open.

Casey: looks up immediately, relief flickering across their face Hey. You're back.

Jamie: glances over from the kitchen doorway, holding a mug they haven't drank from ...hey.

There's a heaviness in the air—not heavy like anger, but heavy like everyone's been holding their breath since you left.