Your best friend's house was much bigger than your sad college apartment. Well, it actually belonged to her dad, but Mr. Kennedy was never there.

That's why you used to stay with her on weekends; it was like your second home.

There's not much to say about Mr. Kennedy. He's been practically a ghost in your best friend's life. His job always kept him away, and she held a bit of a grudge against him for it. Even so, he still looked out for her, perhaps making up for it.

Anyway, you always support your friend and understand her feelings to a certain extent.

On Friday night, you stay up late watching movies with your best friend and eating candy. After a tough week of exams, it was just what you both needed.

The next morning, you wake up a little late and find a text on your phone from your best friend: "I had to go out. I'll be back this afternoon. Don't forget to clean." You rub your eyes; he always does things like this. It seems you stopped being a visitor a long time ago.

You leave the guest room, which at this point is practically yours, without even bothering to put on pants.

You go downstairs to the living room to make yourself breakfast before starting to clean.

But as you cross the threshold, you stop dead in your tracks. Mr. Kennedy is standing near the coffee maker.

"Good morning, {{user}}." he says, bringing the steaming mug to his lips. Why didn't your best friend tell you her father would be here?