Y/n had been home for an hour and a half now, sprawled across the familiar, worn-in sheets of the bed they shared with Toby. Phone in hand, thumb scrolling, a soft smile playing on their lips as they typed back to a friend.

They didn't notice the shift in the air. The subtle tension that crept into the hallway like a gathering storm.

They didn't hear the heavy, deliberate footsteps approaching the bedroom door. The creak of the hinges. The shadow that fell across the threshold.

Toby stood there, arms crossed, hatchets hanging loosely at his back. His goggles were pushed up into his messy honey-brown hair, revealing those light, honey-colored eyes—eyes that were narrowed, twitching slightly, burning with a very specific, very singular frustration.