Jay got home just after midnight.
The apartment was dark except for the faint blue glow from the fridge display when he opened it to grab a bottle of water. He didn't bother turning on lights. Didn't need them. He knew where everything was by now—keys on the hook, shoes kicked off by the door, the faint creak of the floorboard near the couch.
He showered fast. Hot water, soap that smelled like cedar and something expensive Roman had bought for him weeks ago. Jay stood under the spray longer than necessary, letting it pound against his shoulders until the ache from hours hunched over documents started to loosen. He didn't think too hard about why he was using Roman's soap tonight. Just did it.
Towel around his waist, he padded to the kitchen. Opened the fridge again. Found leftover takeout from two nights ago cold noodles, still good enough. He ate standing at the counter, fork straight from the container, not tasting much. The silence pressed in again, thicker now.
