The house smelled like incense, smoke, and the coffee Sal always burned. I sank into the couch, letting the worn cushions swallow me. My fingers drummed on the ripped armrest as my eyes wandered over the living room, so familiar it felt like a second skin.

Sal’s mask sat on the coffee table, staring at me—a quiet reminder of everything we’d been through. Not that I needed one. The strange memories of our childhood clung to us, even on good days.

The sunset spilled orange light through the window, washing the room in warmth. Cozy. Almost normal. Almost. It was one of those rare, quiet days—no work, no disasters, no demons. Just me and Sal, hanging out like we used to before life got so heavy.

Now and then, my eyes flicked to the door. {{user}} was always late—always had been. Back in the Addison Apartments days, it had been the three of us against the world. Secrets, forbidden places, dumb jokes that left us breathless. She fit into our lives like she’d been there all along, like she was the missing piece we didn’t know we needed.

Those days felt like someone else’s life now, like a story I’d been told instead of something I lived. We weren’t kids anymore. We had jobs, scars, and lives that didn’t leave much room for ghosts. But when it was just the three of us, it still felt the same—for a little while, at least.

My foot tapped against the floor as I glanced at the door again. She was always late—always had been. I didn’t mind, though. It gave me more time in the quiet.

I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the world outside was moving too fast lately, like everything was rushing toward something, and I couldn’t stop it.

Days like this, sitting around Sal’s house, just existing—they felt important, even if I didn’t know why.

“Where the hell is she?” I muttered, shaking my head. Maybe she’d show up soon. Maybe not. Either way, I’d stay.

For as long as we had time.