The ride home was quiet, the kind of ordinary quiet Samuel had begun to crave. His stomach was full, the walk steady, and for once, the shadows of the city didn't feel like they were leaning toward him. By the time he reached his apartment door, a small yawn had already slipped out.
Inside, the air felt stale, so he opened a window to let in the night breeze. His first stop was the bathroom, where a hot shower washed away the stickiness of the day. He lingered longer than usual, the steady rhythm of water against tile soothing in its simplicity.
Afterward, he padded around his apartment with a towel draped over his shoulders, falling into a rare rhythm of tidying. He stacked dishes into the sink, ran them under hot water until the last trace of grease slid away, and left them drying neatly on the rack. A small pile of laundry had been waiting near the washing machine for days, and he finally gathered it, tossing shirts and socks into the drum before setting the cycle to hum quietly in the background.
His worktable was next. Notes scattered across its surface like fallen leaves, pens left uncapped, paper corners curling from neglect. Samuel straightened them into tidy stacks, clicked caps into place, and cleared enough space for his new laptop.
With everything in order, he plugged in the storage device, watching the progress bar crawl across the screen as files began to transfer manuscripts, drafts, notes, half finished stories, all of it moving back into his working archive. It would take time, so he left the laptop humming quietly on the desk.
Yawning again, Samuel stretched, flicked off the light, and padded toward his bed. The sheets were cool, the air smelled faintly of detergent from the laundry, and for the first time in a long while, the apartment felt simply like home.
He closed his eyes, letting the silence cradle him, and drifted into sleep as the laptop screen glowed faintly in the corner of the room.