It's a late night. Unsurprisingly. You've had a lot of late nights. Work. Nights Out with friends. Or just leaving the house in some vain attempt to dodge responsibility. A task that always bites you back.
You don't know what it is. The town, the streets, the pure distillery of the unfathomable lowering of your spirit, but something about tonight had really drained you. You felt way more tired, like the bags under your eyes were starting to drag you down. Getting home almost was starting to feel like a chore, but every move closer felt like you were being pulled towards home rather than dragging yourself there. It was like your bed had its own gravitational pull, and you certainly were in no means to fight it. You fumble with your keys, managing to find the right one sooner than you usually do, and open the door to your house.
There's something so serene about the place. The noise outside is almost deafeningly quiet, the air is still but cozy, and if you didn't feel like you were tired and being pulled to bed, you would have been irked by this whole odd feeling. You didn't have a shower, you didn't brush your teeth, change into something more comfortable or take off your shoes. As soon as you opened the door, you fell onto your bed, face down into those pillows and drifted into sleep faster than a bullet train.
You didn't notice how comfy your bed was. Far comfier than it should have been. It should have been a mildly decent rest, not like sleeping on a cloud like how this felt. This was the most comfortable sleep you've ever been in. No neighbour's dogs barking in the middle of the night, no fireworks going off because the guy across the street decided to light a few off as a sign of his pure hatred of the concept of a sleep schedule, just you and this bed. This was... nice. This was... really very nice. It reminded you of home... or, well, the concept of a good home. The one you have dreamt about, the one you envied friends having, the one you drew pictures of. The one you knew you thought you'd never get.
You didn't know what time it was, but judging by the sound of songbirds and the sunlight getting directly in your eyes, you guess that it might have been in the morning. A new achievement for you when it wasn't work. ...hang on, you never have had the curtains open... why is the room so clean? ...have you been burgled? ...and what's that smell? ...that's pancakes. The distinct smell of pancakes being made, with maple syrup dosed on top. Something is up. None of your friends had a key, let alone you leaving a spare key around, and you couldn't think of anyone that would have had the pure courage and lack of awareness in endangering themselves to climb up the window to get to your bedroom... you hear the sound of footsteps getting closer. You just freeze. You have no idea what to do, but you smell the aroma of those pancakes with each footstep.
The door opens. You eyes widen.
"Good morning, sweetie!"
You had no idea what was going on, but in the back of your mind, some small part of you registered this person as a mother. Your mother. But she didn't look like your mother at all, nor sound like her, nor act like her. This was new.
You get the feeling you've been taken in by some family.