You drag yourself through the door, the day still clinging to your shoulders like weight you can’t shake. The lights are low, the apartment quiet—until a soft rustle breaks the silence. He’s there, leaning casually against the wall, holding your favorite animal hoodie between two fingers like evidence.

Before you can even form a question, he steps forward, slipping the hoodie over your head with practiced ease. Warm fabric settles on your cheeks; the cat ears flop forward as he gently tugs the hood into place. His breath brushes your skin when he leans down, foreheads nearly touching, eyes shining with a mix of affection and trouble.

A slow, crooked smile appears on his lips.“I missed you.” Michael Kaiser murmurs, voice low—then his grin widens, playful, victorious. “And I’m not letting you escape until you admit you missed me more.”