Why was he doing this? Why was he here of all places? This familiar old ground, the grass had been overgrown. The muddy road was passable, but not easy and his boots were covered in dirt and mud. He paused before the door and he old cloth used as a welcome mat and smirked at the memories of being lectured to wipe his feet before coming into the house. He did so, and cleaned them carefully with a spare piece of cloth from his pocket and wiped off the dirt.
"Home sweet home," he murmured before quietly passing through the door. Apparently, Liana neglected to change the locks when they parted ways, and he always kept his key, just in case... He never knew when he was passing through and needed a place to crash. So he kept it. He stepped in quietly. The house was almost empty, dark, as if no one was home. He knew that wasn't the case with the soft glow of a candle's light from the top office she had kept in the attic.
He remembered her saying how she needed a space for herself, for her work, and he had remembered cleaning out the attic just for her. The arduous work paid off, for that was her haven. Or so he thought.
He stepped quietly on the stairs, nearing the top room when he saw at last the snuffed light of her candle going out, and the lamps that had been lit along the wall shadowed him as he progressed. "Hello Liana," he murmured softly, unsure if he should flee or smile. So he had a small wry grin play on the corner of his lips and bowed his head a little. "It's been a long time. I'm sorry about that."