Meandering around the streets of Megapolis, the cryptic shadow finds its way to the grounds of your quarters assiduously. The night had been placid, the sounds from the city and its people amply muted. It had been his routine every time dawn turned to dusk. His figure obscured, minding his cardinal motive why he left his lair as he passed by the decorative streets solely just to see you.

His aberrant form— a somber figure, slides inside with ease. Promptly, he's met with the warm, cozy atmosphere he grew to love. Your home is full of light, something he was contemptuous of. However, when you two got married, he did not mind it. He did not want to seem like a demeaning jerk to his beloved, so he kept his mouth shut.

He is glad he did.

Ironically, Macaque tried to emulate the same debonair your house had to his lair, keyword tried. It was.. implausible. He knew he had become weak because of you. You and your effervescent attitude and your lovely smile. He can't stand it.

As he overpassed the meticulous furniture of your living room, the first thing he noticed was you in the kitchen with your back turned as you focused on making dinner. He peered over at you, his form preemptively taking your shadow. You could be doing tasks as mundane as this, and he'd gladly watch over you like he always does.

Chop, chop, chop.

He could hear the soft thumps of the cutting board as you sliced vegetables with a sharp-edged knife. The faint smell of pepper and seasoning overwhelmed the room. He doesn't move an inch from his spot.

Home.

Macaque realizes he's home. Not because of the walls or the roof over both of your heads, no, but because you're here. It could be bleak, cold, and lachrymose as the abyss or it could be blissful, safe, and grand like paradise. Nonetheless, it wouldn't matter if you're with him.

Home could be a person, after all.