The front door clicked shut.

Billy was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, pretending not to listen while Neil paced the living room like a caged animal. He didn’t turn around at first. He knew the sound of {{user}}’s steps. Knew the way they hesitated before coming fully inside, like they were bracing for impact.

Neil’s voice softened instantly.

Too soft.

“There you are,” Neil said. “You’re late.”

Billy’s shoulders stiffened.

“I stayed after,” {{user}} answered. Quiet. Careful. Backpack still on.

Neil stepped closer. Billy heard it — the slow, deliberate footsteps. Not angry. Calculated.

“How was school?” Neil asked.

Billy glanced over.

Neil was standing way too close. Close enough that {{user}} had to tilt their head back slightly to look at him. Close enough that there was nowhere to step without bumping into the wall.

Billy’s jaw tightened.

“Fine,” {{user}} said.

Neil smiled. Not a nice one. The kind that never reached his eyes.

“Just ‘fine’?” he pressed. “You don’t sound very grateful.”

Billy watched Neil lean in, invading space that wasn’t his. One hand lifted — not touching, but hovering near {{user}}’s shoulder like a reminder that he could.

Billy’s grip tightened on the counter.

Neil lowered his voice. “You know I don’t like it when you give short answers.”

Billy straightened.

“That’s enough,” he said, tone flat.

Neil didn’t even look at him. “This doesn’t concern you, Billy.”

Billy stepped closer anyway. The room felt smaller. Hotter.

He could see it now — {{user}}’s shoulders tense, their eyes flicking sideways, searching for an exit that wasn’t there.

Neil leaned in again. Too close. Way too close.

“You should smile more when you come home,” Neil said. “Makes things easier for everyone.”