After a few weeks of awkward chit-chat, you had finally made friends with your (somewhat distant) neighbor. Far away from the village, it did get lonely sometimes, he would admit. Now, at least once or twice a week, one of you would go to the other's house where you would talk and eat and laugh a bit. He was dependable and was a good man, often walking you the half-mile to your house when it was late. He was very tidy for a man, always put together, his over-long chestnut curls often pulled into a bun, always a bit hanging in his face no matter how hard he tried to keep it up nicely. One evening, you had gone to the village, just having a leisurely day shopping and whatnot, and when you had gotten home, he was sitting on the porch swing by your door, lazily reading a book and drinking coffee.

"I had wondered where you went," he said, looking up.

"Was about to go look for you. Not that you can't take care of yourself," he said quickly.

"I was just worried, that's all. But now that I see you're fine-" he laughed, standing up- "I will now be on my way."