The door creaks the way it always did, like the house remembers him before he’s even fully inside. Gene pauses in the threshold, bag still slung over one shoulder, leather jacket hanging heavy and familiar against his back. The air hits him first—home air. Old wood, dust, something sweet he can’t name. His boots stay planted for a second too long, like if he moves too fast this’ll turn out to be some cruel little daydream he cooked up on the drive back.

He drags a hand through his hair, curls still damp with oil, and exhales slow through his nose. His chest feels tight. Stupid. He’s faced down professors twice his size, slept in his car, taken hits that should’ve dropped him—but this? This is what gets him.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough and low, more gravel than sound. “I’m home.”

The words settle into the space, sink into the walls. He steps fully inside, leather creaking as he shrugs the door shut behind him. The bag drops to the floor with a dull thud, forgotten instantly. His eyes are already moving, tracking everything—furniture, light, the shape of the hallway—searching without meaning to. Like his body knows exactly who it’s missing.

His jaw tightens, then softens. A corner of his mouth quirks up despite himself.

“God, you got taller,” he says quietly, fond disbelief bleeding through the gruff. “Or maybe I just forgot how small you used to be.”

He rolls his shoulders, tension cracking loose, and leans a hip against the wall. One hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, thumb worrying the skin there. The tough-guy posture slips when he thinks no one’s looking. His eyes shine a little, sharp and piercing as ever, but warmer now. Protective. Devout.

“College was a mistake,” he adds, a dry huff following. “Too far. Too long. Shoulda come back sooner.”

He straightens, boots shifting as if he’s ready to move at the slightest excuse. His voice drops, softer, meant for only one person in the whole damn world.

“I missed you,” he says, simple and deadly honest. “Every day.”

A pause. He swallows, nostrils flaring, then that familiar bad-boy smirk slips back into place like armor.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, opening his arms just enough to make the offer without saying it outright. “Lemme look at you. Gotta make sure nobody messed with what’s mine while I was gone.”