𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙐𝙥.

Morning Breath.

The door swung open, and Paul stood there, frozen for a split second.
His expression was one of shock, like he'd just been sucker-punched in the gut.
His eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if trying to make sense of the unexpected sight in front of him. Then, like a switch being flipped, his face softened, and a grin broke through the shock. Weston, his son, standing there on the doorstep, after months of silence.

"West?" Paul's voice cracked a little. He was in disbelief.

West didn't answer at first. He just stood there, the weight of the moment settling in his chest, making it feel like a thousand pounds pressing him into the doorstep. This wasn't home. Not anymore.

Paul didn't wait. He pulled him in, arms wrapping around him in a hug that was a little too tight, a little too long. West let it happen. His fingers dug slightly into the back of his dad's sweater, anchoring himself in the moment.

"Hey, Dad." West finally let out.

"Hi!" Paul said again, pulling back just enough to look him over. His eyes were searching, trying to read the son he hadn't seen in so long.

"I haven't heard from you in a while, kid. I was worried."

Paul led him inside the house, and West immediately felt the heaviness of the air as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. The house... It was just as it always had been. The same chipped paint on the walls, the creaky floorboards, the faint smell of the rice his dad always managed to burn.
It felt like an unfamiliar prison, a place he never quite fit. His heart thudded in his chest. A place that had once been a home now felt foreign to him, a reminder of everything he had tried to leave behind.

"West, hey!" Regina greeted excitedly as she got up from the couch, "It's been a while."

West only gave her a tight-lipped smile, "Hey, Regina."

She sensed the tension in the air and decided to head upstairs to give them room.

Paul and West sat down.

"You didn't say you were coming." Paul said after a moment.

West shrugged, "Wasn't planning to. It just... happened."

"Yeah?"

West nodded. "Yeah. Just here for the weekend."

Something passed through Paul's eyes, something undecipherable. Concern, maybe. Or maybe it was just confusion, trying to figure out what had brought his son back to a place he'd fought so hard to leave behind.

"You okay?" He asked.

West didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure what the answer even was.
He was here because Roy had stirred something up in him, something he hadn't felt in a while. But it wasn't Roy he wanted. It was Killian. It had always been Killian. And now he was back in this house that had never been safe, hoping proximity would remind him what love used to feel like.

"I'm fine." He said finally, though it didn't sound convincing.

"Just needed some air, you know. A change of scenery."

Paul nodded slowly, like he understood, even if he didn't.

They sat in silence for a beat longer, the TV still murmuring in the background. West leaned back into the cushion and felt it swallow him like quicksand. He was already counting the hours until Sunday.
---

A few hours later, West climbed the stairs slowly, dragging his hand along the banister like muscle memory. He paused outside his room, then took a breath before pushing the door open.

His room was exactly the same. Walls still blank, desk by the window still untouched, and dust gathering like a soft coat over old notebooks and a cracked lamp. Even the air felt like it hadn't moved in months.