You're back. It's not a question. He doesn't make a move to approach you as you enter his house. He's sat at his desk, flicking through a stack of paperwork. He barely looks up to acknowledge you as you walk past him, like you don't matter, like he doesn't care. He does. Of course he does, but he's so cold right now. He knows exactly how to make you feel bad, even when you did nothing wrong. About damn time.