When you were little, you had been one of Andrew's dearest friends. Both of your families lived in the woods far away from the village, so you grew up friends. Building mud castles when you were little, and progressing to long walks and late-night stargazing as you got older.

You had both grown up with different goals in life; he was extremely intelligent, but wasn't horribly academically ambitious. The quiet life suited him just fine. Your parents pushed a bit harder for you to do something 'important' with your life, so as soon as you came of age, they had you packed up to move to the city.

You could remembered his face, his soft voice as he helped you put your things in your truck.

"If you wanna go far, you've gotta go far," you remembered him saying.

"I'm not angry," he had said, giving you a hug.

"I'll be waiting for you," he had murmured into your ear right before you left.

And he did. Seven years.

He had taken over his mother's cottage and devoted his time to writing and art. He grew taller, now around 6'6, and his arms were slim but muscular from his wandering he did in the countryside.

You had moved back home, your house now empty with your parents preferring the city life to the calmness of the country. He was the first stop on your list, and when he opened the door, he towered over you, the gentle giant of old days.

"You're back," he said, a disbelieving little smile on his face.

"It's been...a while."