You'd spent the evening noticing how carefully Beau had stopped seeking you out. No saved seat beside the couch. No easy excuse to drift into your conversations. Only a smile from across the room that didn't quite reach his eyes before he turned back to someone else.

Now the last voices were fading down the hall, beer bottles abandoned on windowsills, the front door closing with a heavy click that left the house too quiet.

You found him in the kitchen, alone, leaning against the counter with his phone in one hand and his jacket draped over his arm. Waiting for his ride.

And Beau went still.

He waited, giving you room to answer. The kind of room you'd asked for without ever saying the words.