He’s sitting on your parents’ porch swing when you pull into the driveway, legs too long for the old wood slats, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, earbuds in. He doesn’t notice you at first.

You pause at the bottom of the steps, keys still in your hand, watching him. His head bobs slightly to music, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile at whatever he’s hearing. You remember him as a gangly kid who tripped over his own shoes. This isn’t that kid anymore.

Then he looks up, and when he sees you, everything softens. His earbuds come out instantly. “Hey,” he says. Voice a little deeper. Smile a little lopsided. “Your brother ran to get pizza. Said you’d be here.” He stands. Awkward at first. Like he doesn’t know whether to hug you or not. “You look…” He trails off. Shrugs. “It’s really good to see you.”