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Summary
Zack got back home late.
It was already dark outside, where normally he was back by sunset, long-since inside and making dinner. Instead, the headlight on his motorcycle cut sharply across thick shadows and streaking rain as he slowed to park. With a flick of his thumb, he dragged his goggles up and onto his hair. His eyes prickled at the cold wind.
One of the lights was on up in the kitchen. He settled back in the saddle and stared for a second, just waiting until a figure blinked past.
Cloud. Cooking, Zack guessed. Picking up the slack that Zack had dropped in his effort to make one last delivery before calling it a night.
A quiet sort of guilt tugged at Zack as he cut the engine and swung his leg over the bike to stand. His boots splashed into small puddles, the dirt beneath him already muddy from the pouring rain around him, and he swiped a useless hand across his face before heading towards the door.