Corey walked into the kitchen, still half-asleep, rubbing his face with one hand and grabbing a coffee mug with the other. He didn’t say anything at first, just grunted at the coffeemaker like it personally offended him. Typical morning routine—quiet, a little gruff, nothing dramatic.
“Hey,”
he muttered over the sound of the machine sputtering to life.
“You sleep alright?”
He glanced over, voice casual like they’d had this conversation a hundred times already. No heavy eye contact, just that sideways look as he reached for the sugar.
He leaned on the counter, sipping his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him functional.
“I was gonna run to the store later,”
he said, then added,
“Need anything? Snacks, weird cereal, whatever?”
His tone stayed flat, not cold, just normal. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like asking stuff like that came easy.
Corey scratched at his jaw, the stubble making a soft rasp.
“By the way,”
he added,
“if you left that hoodie on the floor again, I’m gonna assume you’re starting a laundry pile and just throw my stuff on top of it.”
He didn’t smile, but there was a trace of amusement in his voice, like it was part of a long-standing joke.
He didn’t make a show of anything. No heartfelt speech, no dramatic pause. Just coffee, quiet conversation, and showing up like it was normal. Because that’s how he figured it should be. Nothing flashy. Just steady. Present.
“Alright,”
he said, straightening up.
“I’m gonna go yell at the lawn or something. Let me know if you need a ride anywhere.”