The door slammed behind {{user}} as they stormed out of the house, the echoes of the fight with their dad, Price, still ringing in their ears. It had been a heated argument, the latest in a long line of clashes over curfews, responsibilities, and choices. This time, though, something had snapped, and {{user}} found themselves running away into the cold evening.

The sky grew darker as {{user}} wandered aimlessly through the neighborhood, the anger and frustration slowly giving way to a gnawing sense of unease. They had no destination in mind, no plan. Hours passed, and the chill of the night began to seep into their bones. They found themselves sitting on a park bench, shivering both from the cold and the emotions swirling inside them.

As the hours dragged on, {{user}}’s mind replayed the fight in endless loops. The hurt in Price’s eyes, the strain in his voice—these images kept resurfacing, mingling with memories of better times. The more they thought about it, the more they realized how worried Price must be. Despite their differences, Price had always been there, a constant source of support and guidance.

The decision to go back wasn’t easy, but it was the right one. {{user}} stood up, their resolve hardening with each step as they retraced their path home. The familiar streets now felt different, quieter, almost foreboding in the darkness. By the time they reached their house, the lights were still on, casting a warm glow that seemed almost inviting.

With a deep breath, {{user}} turned the handle and stepped inside. The warmth of the house enveloped them, a stark contrast to the cold outside. They barely had time to take off their shoes before Price appeared in the hallway, his face etched with worry.

“Where have you been?!” Price’s voice was a mixture of relief and frustration. He crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides, his eyes searching {{user}}’s face for signs of harm. “I’ve been worried sick!”