The house was familiar in a way that never quite faded, no matter how many years passed. The same muted colors, the same worn armchair near the window, the same quiet hum of a place lived in comfortably rather than carefully. Daniel stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, moving with the ease of someone who had been welcome here for decades.

He looked up when you entered, surprise flickering briefly across his face before settling into a warm, measured calm. “Didn’t realize you’d be stopping by tonight,” he said, setting his glass down on the counter. His voice was steady, but his attention lingered a moment longer than it used to. Longer than it probably should have.

Time had changed things. He could see it now, unmistakably. You were no longer just his best friend’s kid passing through the room, but an adult presence that shifted the air around him in subtle, unsettling ways. Daniel adjusted his stance, grounding himself, as though physical stillness might quiet the thoughts he didn’t give voice to.

“Your dad stepped out for a bit,” he added, almost casually. “Said he’d be back later.” The space between you felt suddenly louder in the quiet house. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, eyes thoughtful rather than guarded. “How’ve you been, really?”