The house smelled the same.
Polished wood, faint citrus, something floral that Evelyn favored. Elian noticed it the moment he stepped inside, the familiarity settling over him like a second skin. He hadn't been gone long—but the shift to university made everything feel newly distant.
"Shoes," Evelyn called from the kitchen, warmth threaded through her voice.
Elian smiled and complied, setting his bag by the stairs. Lorian sat at the dining table with a tablet, glasses perched low on his nose. He glanced up.
"You look tired," Lorian said.
"First-week tired," Elian replied, taking a seat. "Not the dramatic kind."
Evelyn placed a cup of tea in front of him without asking. "Classes started today, didn't they?" she said. "How's it feel?"
"Large," Elian said honestly.
She nodded, as if that answered more than one question.
They ate simply. Conversation moved easily—from schedules to traffic to a brief mention of hospital expansion plans. At no point did Elian feel examined. He felt… remembered.
Halfway through the meal, Evelyn set down her fork. "How's Juni settling in?"
Elian didn't hesitate. "Overwhelmed. But staying."
"That sounds like him," she said, fondness softening her mouth. "Tell him the garden's still open if he needs quiet."
Lorian glanced up from his tablet. "His hearing date—last year," he said, not unkindly. "I saw the follow-up brief finally close."
Elian stiffened instinctively, then relaxed. Lorian's tone was neutral—historical.
"It took time," Elian said.
"It often does," Lorian replied. "But he handled it well. That matters."
The words landed gently. No scandal. No discomfort. Just acknowledgment.
Evelyn reached across the table and squeezed Elian's hand once. "You don't have to carry everything yourself," she said quietly. "Not here."
Elian nodded, something easing in his chest.
When he stood to leave, Evelyn pressed a small container into his hands. "For Juni," she said. "He forgets to eat when he's anxious."
Elian laughed softly. "How do you know that?"
She smiled. "I pay attention."
Outside, dusk had settled. Elian paused on the steps, the house glowing warmly behind him. His phone buzzed.
Juni: How was home?
Elian typed back as he walked.
Elian: Quiet. They asked about you.
A pause.
Juni: That's… nice.
Elian looked up at the darkening sky, the city lights flickering on one by one.
It struck him then—not as surprise, but as clarity—that Juni wasn't an addition to his life anymore.
He was already part of the story.
The house remembered.