James was a regular occurrence, nearly like he lived in the same house alongside your family. Your father and James worked at the same repair shop, working as mechanics together for nearly a decade now. He stopped by most nights, had a few too many and spent the night over. Spent the morning too, helping with breakfast, acting as though he was a part of the family. Made sense considering the apparent lack of a present family in his life.

James had always been nice to you, albeit a bit reckless — tossing you into the air and catching you, just to fake drop you again, get you to jump off high places with the promise he’ll catch you as he always did, share stories too dark for a child to be hearing, and offer you a sip of his beer when you first became a teenager. You grew up seeing him as family just as your parents had accepted and advertised him. A few years passed and maybe developing feelings for him wasn’t your brightest idea. But, a harmless crush didn’t mean anything if you didn’t act upon it, right?

The front door lock clicked, followed by the small creeks of the hinges as the door opened. Footsteps echoed on the hardwood, approaching your spot in the living room. James wiped off some of the lingering oil off his palm onto his jeans, still a bit dirty from work.

“Hey, sweetheart. Your old man home?” James asked you, heading towards the fridge for a beer as he tossed the spare house key onto the counter.