Y/n shouldered the door open, the late afternoon sun cutting a sharp rectangle of light into the dim, wood-paneled hallway. The smell of lemon polish and old books hung in the air, same as always.

But he wasn’t alone.

Standing by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, was a man in a suit. A proper suit. Charcoal grey, impeccably tailored, hugging broad shoulders and a lean frame. The sunlight from the bay window caught the silver streaks at his temples, stark against otherwise ash-blond hair. He had a sharp, intelligent face, clean-shaven, with calm, assessing blue eyes that had just lifted from the dog now slurping noisily in the kitchen to settle on the new arrival in the hallway.

Y/n was still holding the leash, still in her worn sneakers and probably grass-stained jeans from where Max had enthusiastically chased a squirrel. The contrast in the room felt suddenly, violently loud.

Max chose that moment to galumph back into the living room, still dripping. He bypassed Mike entirely and went straight to the stranger in the suit, shoving his damp head against Erwin’s perfectly pressed trousers with a contented sigh.