The tea was on my desk when I woke up.

Still warm. A plain ceramic cup, no note, set exactly where I would reach for it without having to lean. I sat up and stared at it for a moment.

The door was already closed. His side of the room was empty, bed made with the precise corners he always made, jacket gone from the hook.

He'd been up before me. Had made tea. Had put it on my desk without waking me.

Had left before I could say anything about it.

I picked up the cup. Held it with both ...