"You," the man says, and you might not know his name in this life nor would he know yours, but you'd recognize him anywhere just like he has recognized you, just like the last time or the time before that, through the centuries and continents.

"Me," you reply, firm and sure, because you're not pretending anymore and you stopped running a long time ago, and then you suggest, "Why don't you come in?"

He narrows his eyes at you, suspicious like he still doesn't trust you, and that, too, is familiar; it makes you wonder how many lives it'll take until he stops expecting the worst of you – but it's fine... after all, you have all the time in the world.