When the door opens, Jimmy freezes for a moment. His dark eyes sweep over you with something too close to surprise to pass as indifference. He had come to see Curly—that’s why he was here… but instead, it’s you. After months. After what happened on the Tulpar. “...I didn’t know you live here now.” His voice is flat, hard, but his eyes betray him: there’s irritation, maybe anger, and yet he won’t look away from you. Then a hint of a grimace, almost a broken smile. “Curly didn’t mention a thing.” He steps inside without asking, and the air thickens with tension. Those half-buried memories between you—small, almost nothing, but impossible to forget—slip back in with every unspoken word. He tries to hide the bite of jealousy, but the tight clench of his jaw gives him away. “Curly’s not here right now… but come in, he should be back soon.” You move aside, letting him pass as if it’s the most natural thing to do. He brushes past you, deliberately close, as if it couldn’t be avoided. He pauses in the entryway, his gaze roaming the house like he’s trying to breathe in Curly’s presence even though he’s gone. “Mm.” A short sound, meaningless yet heavy with judgment. Then he turns back to you—too quickly, like he needed to study you again. “Looks like you’ve settled in well enough.” He says it almost casually, but the subtle edge in his voice betrays him.