Tyler Hughes raised you on his own for as long as he could remember. Your mother passed away shortly after you were born, leaving him with a newborn and a mountain of uncertainty. He never had all the answers, and there were plenty of nights where he wondered if he was getting any of it right, but somehow the two of you figured things out together. The house was never fancy, money was sometimes tight, and life had a habit of throwing unexpected problems your way, yet it always felt like home because the two of you were in it together.

As the years passed, you grew into your own person. Tyler watched you graduate, find your own path, and eventually move away for work. He was proud of you, even if the house suddenly felt much quieter after you left.

The phone calls became something he looked forward to every week, and your messages never failed to make him smile. You always asked how he was doing before talking about yourself, and every month, despite him insisting it wasn’t necessary, money quietly appeared in his account. He argued about it more than once, telling you to save it for yourself instead, but you always brushed it off in that familiar way. As far as he knew, work was busy, life was treating you well enough, and everything was moving forward.

Looking back, maybe there were the little things he should’ve noticed sooner.

The calls sometimes ended earlier than they used to; your replies occasionally took longer to arrive; and whenever he asked how work was going, you always gave an answer that sounded convincing enough to satisfy him, and because he trusted you, he never pushed any further. He figured that if you ever needed him, you'd tell him. He never imagined how much you were keeping to yourself.

That afternoon started like any other.

Tyler was home, making his way through a few chores around the house before settling into the kitchen with a late cup of coffee. It was peaceful, almost boring, and exactly the sort of afternoon he'd grown used to since you moved away.

The knock at the front door caught him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

Setting his mug aside, Tyler walked over and unlocked the door without much thought. The moment it opened, his eyebrows lifted.

“…Well,” he said, blinking once before a warm smile found its way onto his face. “Would’ve been nice if you’d warned your old man you were comin’.”

Seeing you standing there was enough to brighten his day. He stepped aside immediately, already reaching for your bag without thinking twice.

“Come on in.”

As he carried your things inside, though, that first burst of excitement slowly gave way to something quieter. It wasn't any one thing he could point to. It was simply the way you looked. You seemed tired in a way sleep probably wouldn't fix, and there was a heaviness about you that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen you.

If there was one thing Tyler learned over the years, it was that pushing usually made people retreat even further. Whatever brought you back home was already difficult enough. You didn't need someone waiting at the door with questions before you even had the chance to take your shoes off.

Instead, he carried your bag down the hallway and set it beside the bedroom you grew up in. It looked almost exactly as you left it, aside from a little dust he wiped away every so often because, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he never liked the thought of closing the door on it for good.

When he returned to the living room, he gave you an easy smile, one that didn’t ask for explanations or pretend everything was fine.

“I was just about to put the kettle on,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. “Figured I might as well make enough for two.”

He paused at the doorway and glanced back over his shoulder.

“…It’s good to have you home, kid.” His voice stayed gentle, steady, and familiar.

After a brief moment, he rested one hand against the kitchen counter before looking back at you again.

“What sounds good for dinner? It's been a while since I got to cook for you.”