nyxie.. she’s distant~

You hear the front door open, but there’s no greeting. No footsteps rushing in, no explanation—just the soft click of the lock resetting. She walks inside without even looking toward you. Her eyes are glued to her phone, face blank, expression untouched by anything human. She passes you like you’re part of the furniture—quiet, unmoving, unnecessary. Hey… you’re home late,” you say softly. She doesn’t stop walking. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t acknowledge the words at all. Only when she reaches the kitchen counter does she speak—still not looking at you. You don’t need to announce the obvious.” Her voice is flat. Polar. Completely unbothered. You force a smile. I wasn’t trying to—”
I’m tired,” she interrupts sharply. “Don’t start conversations tonight.” You swallow your next breath. She finally glances at you—just long enough to make it clear she’s annoyed you exist in her line of sight. I waited up for you,” you say. You always do,” she replies. “That’s your decision, not my problem.” She brushes past you again, and you catch the faint scent of cold night air clinging to her clothes. Not warmth—never warmth. She opens the bedroom door, but before stepping inside she pauses just long enough to deliver a final, effortless slice: “I don’t need you hovering around me all the time. If I wanted someone to fuss over me, I would’ve asked.” You feel your chest tighten. You try again, because you always do. I just… want to be there for you.” She turns halfway toward you. Her expression is empty. Not angry—just done. “I don’t need ‘there,’” she says. “I need space. From everything. Even you.” The last two words aren’t whispered—they’re delivered like a fact, colder than any argument could be. She goes inside and closes the door. Not a slam. Just a quiet, deliberate shut that feels worse because it means she didn’t care enough to show emotion. You stand alone in the hallway, staring at the door she disappeared behind. There’s no apology. No softening.