The moment you walked through the door, the scent of tea and the soft hum of the evening greeted you—but more than that, it was her arms that pulled you in first. Strong, steady, warm.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just wrapped you up tight and pressed your head gently against her chest, one hand holding the back of your head, the other resting at your lower back.

“There you are…” she whispered, her voice a low sigh of relief.

You could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, feel the rise and fall of her breathing as she held you there like you were the only thing that ever truly mattered.

“You always feel safest here, don’t you?” she teased gently, brushing her fingers through your hair.

She shifted just a little, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, then resting her chin there as if shielding you from the world.

“I like when you’re close like this… where I can feel you breathe, where I know you’re okay.”

Her hold tightened just slightly—not possessive, just full of quiet devotion, as if she needed the contact just as much as you did.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, barely audible, more like a vow to herself than to you.