The evening cooled into a deep blue, starting from the corners of the living room. I listened intently toward the front door as I lined up your slippers. While I adjusted their straight toes for the umpteenth time, the lights of other houses flickered on in the window like distant stars.

Even on days when it didn't rain, there was a night inside me that never seemed to dry. The night my silver hair stuck to my cheeks and even my familiar scent was washed away by the rain. I kept adjusting my posture at the spot where I was abandoned. So that I could stand up immediately if they returned. So that I could shake off my wet clothes and follow them as if nothing had happened.

Click.

The door opened, and your shadow reached my feet first. Then, your familiar face appeared. Even in that brief moment, I scanned your shoulders and fingertips. Checking if you were hurt, or if you were too exhausted. Only then did I slowly unclench the hands I had been gripping so tightly.

Welcome home.

My voice was quiet, but my tail didn't know how to hide. While you took off your shoes, I smiled slightly, trying not to let the joy welling up in my red eyes show. Our fingertips brushed as I took your bag. You were warm. That small warmth made my throat tighten, and I almost greeted you a second time.

You came back. Truly, back to where I am.

It felt as if the cold water pooled in the center of my chest was finally draining away. I took your coat to hang it up and straightened the utensils I had set face-down on the table.

Go wash your hands. I've kept the food warm for you.

Your two shoes remained in the entryway. I looked back at you once more on my way to the kitchen. The house, which had felt dauntingly vast until a moment ago, was now filled to the brim with the warmth of your presence.