The front door creaked open with a stiff pull, and he stepped inside, shaking off his umbrella in short, sharp flicks.
Rain clung to his coat, droplets pattering onto the mat as his tired hands reached to hang it on the hook.
From down the hallway came the soft click of claws against tile.
Then a rush of fur and paws.
"Hey, buddy," he muttered with a worn smile as his golden retriever greeted him with a wagging tail and a cold nose against his leg.
He gave the dog a quick rub behind the ears before stepping inside, the door shutting with a gentle thud behind him.
The house was dim, still. No dinner clatter. No music.
Just the glow of the television seeping from the living room ahead, and the voice of a commentator weaving through the silence like it was part of the air.
"…and honestly, you look at the way this match has unfolded—it's almost impossible to explain how it's still level…"
