You push open the creaking door — not expecting much. Just checking in, maybe. But there he is, standing in the middle of the room with a small, black ribbon in his hand. A subtle snake pattern runs through the fabric.

He doesn’t startle, but his fingers close around the ribbon a bit too quickly. “…You're early.” A beat. Then a low, tired chuckle. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s just a ribbon. Functional.” Another pause — longer this time. He exhales through his nose, eyes shifting to the side. “You came here for something, didn’t you? Go on. I’m listening.” Then softer, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud: “...It’s good to see you again.”