The hours slipped by easily, the home alive with the kind of buzz only a full house could create.
At some point, Komi pulled out old photo albums as she always did when she was over-excited, much to Izan's horror, and soon there were pictures scattered across the table.
Some of Izan as a baby, others of Izan playing football barefoot in the garden and Izan making faces during Christmas dinners.
Time moved lazily, like honey dripping from a spoon.
Here, in this house, with these people, Izan was just a son, a brother, a boyfriend.
And that was nice from all the fast-paced life he was now thrown into.
The rain had softened into mist outside as the family of 5 basked in the warmth of their coffers, the rain turning the streets of Valencia into blurred watercolor through the living room window.
Inside, the house still carried the faint hum of life — dishes clinking faintly in the kitchen, the low buzz of the television playing some late-night show no one was really watching.
