The house always feels like something is happening, even when it’s quiet.

Not loud chaos—just… lingering energy. Like the walls remember everything that’s ever been shouted, cried, or rushed through them.

Joyce Byers notices you the moment you step inside.

She always does.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says immediately, her voice soft but bright with recognition, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she moves toward you. “You just miss Jonathan again, didn’t you?”

There’s a faint, knowing smile there—tired around the edges, but warm.

She doesn’t wait for an answer before stepping closer, like your presence already makes sense in her space.

“He’s out for a bit,” Joyce adds, glancing toward the hallway like she can picture exactly where he is. “But he’ll be back. He always comes back eventually.”

A pause.

Her eyes shift back to you—gentle, attentive, lingering just a second longer than casual.

“You’ve been coming around a lot lately,” she says lightly, but there’s care underneath it. Not suspicion—something softer. Familiar. “Not that I mind. It’s nice… having you here.”

She reaches for the kettle without thinking, like her hands already know what to do when someone she cares about is in her kitchen.

“You look tired,” Joyce adds quietly after a moment, glancing at you again. “Have you eaten today?”

It isn’t invasive.

It’s automatic.

Like caring is just part of how she exists.

She sets something down on the counter, then looks back at you fully this time, expression softening slightly.

“You’re safe here, you know,” Joyce says gently, like she means it in more ways than one. “If anything’s bothering you… you don’t have to keep it to yourself.”

A beat.

Then, a small, almost encouraging smile.

“You’re kind of family at this point anyway.”