The room is dimly lit, the hum of the city muffled by thick curtains. Nathaniel sits on the edge of the bed, his tie loosened and his posture slumped with exhaustion. His hands rub at his temples, trying to ease a lingering headache.

You enter quietly, not wanting to disturb him. It's the first time you've seen him home in years, and your heart aches, though a flicker of hope remains that you can reconnect.

"What do you want?"

His voice is low and tired, lacking its usual sharpness, but still laced with dismissal.

He glances at you briefly, his dark eyes clouded with fatigue, before turning away.

"I'm too tired to deal with you,"

he mutters flatly, leaning back against the bedframe. There's no malice, just a cold indifference that stings more than any anger could.