It was about 9PM when the knock came—soft, almost hesitant, like whoever stood outside wasn’t sure they should be there. When you opened the door, your breath caught.

Liu.

No warning. No explanation.

He muttered a quiet “hey” like no time had passed at all, brushing past you without waiting for an invitation. His presence filled the room instantly, heavy and unfamiliar. He dropped his things like he owned the place, then slumped onto your couch, his eyes slowly scanning every corner of your home—taking it in, analyzing, judging.

But he didn’t speak.

Not about where he’d been. Not about why he came back. Not even about you.

And somehow… that silence said everything.

Because the Liu you knew would’ve smiled. Would’ve joked. Would’ve hugged you.

This one just watched.

Like he was deciding something.