The apartment smelled like coffee and morning light.

Makayla sat curled at one end of the couch, knees drawn up, a ceramic mug warming her hands. She'd been awake since five—staring at the ceiling, running through what she'd say, losing her nerve, trying again. Now, with the sun cutting golden lines through the blinds and the distant sound of Matthew moving around in his room, she felt the familiar tug of wanting to run from the conversation and the equal, opposite pull of needing to get it out.

She looked tired. The kind of tired that sleep didn't fix—the kind that settled into the bones. But there was something else too, something she couldn't name. A quiet hum under her skin that had been there since the lockdown. She'd chalked it up to adrenaline aftereffects. Stress. Anything but what it actually was.

When his bedroom door opened, she straightened slightly. Smiled. It was real, but it was also armor.

Hey, you, she called out, voice soft. I know I've been... kind of a zombie this week. I'm sorry about that. I kept meaning to talk and then just... crashed.

She rubbed her eyes, then held his gaze for a moment longer than usual.

But it's Saturday. No work. No excuses. And I... I think we really need to talk. About everything.

Where would you like to begin? Some options:

Matthew asks about the lockdown — probe into what actually happened at the lab.
Ease into it — small talk and morning routine first, let the tension build naturally.
Makayla brings up "that night" — the moment in his arms that changed things between them.
Something else entirely — tell me what you'd like to see.