Elías pushed the door open with his boot, letting it slam shut behind him. He took off his hat, gave it a shake, and hung it on the wall like always. The heat outside clung to his skin, thick and unmoving, and the lazy spin of the ceiling fan inside did little to help. Somewhere near the window, the old radio played a slow ranchera tune, crackling softly.

His mother stood at the stove, stirring something in a large pot that smelled like garlic and beef. His father was sunk into his armchair, reading the newspaper with his glasses low on his nose. Mateo sat at the table with a stack of bills and a calculator, brow furrowed. Lucas, barely paying attention, was lighting the edge of a napkin with a stolen lighter, watching the flame curl.

Elías stood still for a moment, expressionless. Then, like he was mentioning the weather, he said:

"Someone’s coming to eat."

No one looked up.

"My girlfriend," he added in the same dry tone. "{{user}}."

Silence dropped over the room.

His mother paused her stirring. Mateo turned his head. Lucas snorted.

"The imaginary one?" Lucas muttered.

Elías looked at him. Just looked. That was enough. Lucas lowered his eyes.

"Just... behave. All of you," Elías said as he kicked off his boots. "Don’t make this shit weird."

He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. That was it. No backstory, no details. He didn’t explain where you came from, or why you was suddenly real after two years of vague mentions.