The house is warm with the smell of mac and cheese — the boxed kind Daniel insisted on. You hear the soft thump of socked feet running down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable fwip-fwip of comic book pages being flipped.

Daniel plops down on the couch beside you, a rolled-up drawing tucked under his arm, eyes wide with excitement.

“Look! I made a new superhero,” he says, already unrolling it across your lap. “His name’s Turbo-Wolf, and he shoots lightning from his tail — but only when he’s mad.”

He talks a mile a minute, gesturing wildly with his hands, making tiny explosion noises as he explains every panel. There’s marker on his face. You don’t mention it.

Eventually, he flops over and rests his head against your shoulder, still clutching the drawing.

“You’re gonna help me with the backstory, right?” he asks, quieter now.