Darcy ended the call and let the phone slip from his fingers onto the couch cushion beside him. His shoulders sagged as he leaned back, feeling exhausted.
The quiet hum of the small apartment surrounded him, a stark contrast to the noise of the other day. His birthday had been strange, stranger than he had wanted to admit. His mother had smiled, spoken in that gentle, careful tone she often used when she didn't want to worry him, while her mind was elsewhere. Darcy had seen it, but he hadn't wanted to press her. Instead, he had carried the atmosphere, faking cheer as best as he could.
Now, sitting in their cramped living room, he exhaled slowly, staring up at the cracked ceiling. He had come back full of motivation, determined not to let the strangeness of the day drag him down. His heart had been racing with plans he had carried for years, but never pursued; he hadn't had the resources or the connections. Not until now.
