"Hi," he said, hand giving a small wave. He stood there. Trying to smile. Trying to remember what normal meant.
Ryohei could only stare. The form before him felt like a ghost. A ghost of a past love he'd given up on. The ghost of past smiles and warmth glowed before him almost readily. Ready for what? Forgiveness? No. no, Ryohei didn't deserve that.
If Gokudera had known that he was letting Ryohei think forgiveness was an option, he would've changed his expression.
"Hey," Ryohei replied.
"May I come in?"
"That doesn't sound like a good idea," The response was quick and swift like a merciful kill, but it hurt much more than one should.
"Oh," Gokudera muttered awkwardly. "Well, can we talk?"
"About what?" Ryohei asked defensively. Gokudera caught on to this. Why was Ryohei defensive? The silver-haired man didn't care, it meant he had the power in this conversation. The upper hand.
"Things," he said simply. "But I want to talk inside."
"…Fine," Ryohei muttered. Opening the door wide. The door to his home. The door containing doors. Doors to rooms, privacy, the very innards and organs of a family. A family not consisting of guns and bosses, but of sincere and obligated affection. The warmth that had only grazed Gokudera before, he stepped into.