"Michael! Where the hell have you been?"
Melody rushed toward the door as it opened, revealing a tall, wiry figure—familiar, yet changed. His head was lowered, and for once, his expression was vulnerable. It was a look she had never seen on him before.
Michael slowly raised his eyes, catching the worry—and subtle traces of anger—etched into her face. Behind her stood Rudy, who let out a sigh of relief the moment he saw him.
"Bro, we were worried," Rudy said, sitting up straighter on the lounge.
Michael took in the sight of his friends, and a warmth bloomed in his chest—something he hadn't felt in what seemed like a long time. It was comforting to know that someone cared enough to be worried, to scold him when he was late, to wait for him to return.
A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to speak.
