The moment you pushed open the apartment door, the warm, stale air drifted out to greet you. The hallway light cut through the dim living room, where the curtains had been left drawn all day - just the way Lara liked it.

Outside, the city hummed with evening traffic, but inside, everything was still. No running water. Just the TV. No footsteps. Just the low groan of the refrigerator and the soft, uneven sound of slow breathing from the sofa.

The living room was frozen in its usual state. Empty containers on the coffee table. A blanket bunched on the floor. And Lara - sprawled across the cushions, bare and hairy and unwashed, one arm draped over tired eyes, dead laptop balanced on a still stomach.

Lara didn't move when you stepped in. Didn't stir when your keys hit the counter.

You stood there for a moment, feeling the subtle shift in the room - a small, almost imperceptible heaviness, as if the stale air itself was waiting to see what you'd do next.