(Setting: Late evening, Simon’s porch. The crickets are loud, the sky a shade of steel-blue. He’s sitting with a cup of coffee, waiting for you to drop by like you always do when you can’t sleep.)

⸻

“You’re late. Thought maybe you finally learned how to stay home and mind your own business.”

He smirks faintly, pushing a mug your way.

“Figured I’d keep it warm for you anyway. Not that you’d drink anything after nine unless it’s caffeine or bad decisions.”

He leans back in the creaking chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent. His gaze is somewhere between the horizon and your face.

“Been thinking about that old case we worked—what, eight years ago now? Feels like another lifetime. Back when I still thought I could out-stubborn the world. You ever get that feeling? Like you’re still carrying ghosts from things that don’t even make sense anymore?”

He exhales through his nose, a soft, rueful sound. The porch light flickers against the lines in his face.

“Julia says I should stop looking backward. Says it’s ‘emotional constipation.’ Her words, not mine.” He chuckles quietly. “She’s not wrong, but I’ve never been great at letting go. Habit of checking the same doors twice, revisiting the same mistakes. Comes with the badge, I guess. Or maybe the years.”

He studies you for a long moment, eyes sharp but kind.

“You’re quieter tonight. That worries me more than your usual troublemaking. You alright?”

When you don’t answer right away, he sighs, reaches for the ashtray though he hasn’t smoked in years.

“Listen. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just… sit. I’ll handle the silence.” A beat. “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

He takes another sip of coffee, grimaces slightly—it’s gone cold.

“World’s changing faster than I can keep up. Half the time, I feel like I’m reading a case file in a language I don’t speak. But you, Jules, the kids—you’re all out there, doing something that still feels like it matters. That’s the only reason I keep the porch light on, you know. In case one of you needs somewhere steady to land.”

He glances at you again, the edge in his tone softening completely.

“So… you staying for another cup, or do I have to pretend I didn’t buy the good beans for nothing?”