Chapter Text
You never thought you’d come back here. Not really.
Maybe for holidays. Maybe for a quick visit that didn’t involve unpacking your entire life into your childhood bedroom—but not like this. Not with your tail between your legs and your name scratched off a lease and your heart bruised raw by a person who swore they’d stay.
Your dad’s truck lurches into the driveway, the same gravel crunching under the tires like it used to when he picked you up from high school. You stare out the window and realize the wind chime by the porch still makes that same hollow, warbly sound. You hated that thing. You still kinda do.
The house looks exactly the same. Pale blue siding, a slightly crooked welcome mat, the porch light your mom refuses to replace because it “still works just fine.” It’s too familiar. Like the place held its breath waiting for you to return. You hate that it feels like a relief.
“Here we are,” your dad says, putting the truck in park like this is normal. Like you didn’t just leave an entire life behind last week. “Still stands, huh?”
You nod, hand already on the door handle.
Inside, the house smells like lemon cleaner and something baking. Your mom’s coping mechanism. She shows up in the kitchen with a half-pan of brownies and that soft, worried smile she’s been wearing since you told them over the phone you were coming back.
“I washed your sheets,” she says, like that’s the thing that’ll fix it all. “And I cleared out the top drawer for your stuff.”
You don’t really want brownies, but you take one anyway. She awkwardly wraps you in a stiff hug before you can duck it, and for a second, your chest goes tight with everything you’re trying not to feel.
⸻
Your room’s smaller than you remember.
Maybe you just got bigger. Or maybe you forgot how cramped it feels with the desk under the window and the bookshelf you begged for in eighth grade still jammed with old notebooks and expired pens. The stars on the ceiling still glow faintly when you turn the lights off. You forgot they even existed.
You toss your duffel bag on the bed and collapse next to it, face-first into the pillow.
This wasn’t the plan.
You had a job. A lease. A black cat named Floki you shared with someone who once said they loved you with their whole chest and then left like it was nothing. You were fine . Until the hours got cut. Until your card kept declining. Until the walls of your apartment started to feel like they were closing in.
And now, you’re here. Back in the town you used to call a cage. Living in the house that raised you.
And your bitchass ex took the damn cat.
You fall asleep with your shoes still on.
⸻
Later, there’s a soft knock on the door. Your dad, awkward and trying.
“Hey, um… just so you know, there’s a cookout this weekend. Over at the Parkers’ place. Same old deal. Whole block’ll be there.”
You raise an eyebrow at him from your pillow.
“I figured, you know… might be good to see people. Socialize a little. Catch up.”
You shrug. “Maybe.”
He smiles like that’s a yes. “Alright, bird. Just thought I’d let you know.”
You smile fondly at the nickname, one he had been calling you for as long as you could remember.
He doesn’t say “I’m worried about you.” He doesn’t have to. You can hear it in the way he lingers at the door before heading back down the hall.
" Love you too Dad. " you whisper as he goes.
⸻
It’s close to midnight when you finally get up.
You pad into the kitchen barefoot, the tile cool under your feet. The fridge hums. You pull out a half-empty jug of milk and pour yourself a glass, drinking it at the sink like you used to in high school when you couldn’t sleep.
Everything’s so quiet.
Then… something.
A voice. It’s faint—coming from the house next door. You glance out the window, curiosity getting the better of you.
There’s a man on the porch. Broad shoulders, relaxed posture, wearing what looks like a hoodie and sweatpants as he leans on the railing, staring up at the stars like they’re talking back. You can’t see his face, not really. Just the glow of a porch light and the faint shimmer of his silhouette.
You don’t know him yet. Not by name.
But you will. Soon enough, that porch light will feel like a beacon.
And you’ll come running .