It was late. The mission was over, the city was quiet, and Jill was finally home — safe, exhausted, and aching to be next to you. You were curled up in bed already, one of her old sweatshirts pulled over your frame, hair messy, glasses slightly crooked from dozing off with a book on your chest. She stood in the doorway and just… looked at you.

Her breath caught a little. Even after all this time — after all the chaos and bloodshed and fire — you still made her heart stutter. She walked over slowly, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Hey,” she whispered. “Still awake?” You blinked blearily up at her. “Mm… barely.” She smiled softly, brushing her fingers over your jaw. “You look good like this,” she murmured. You blinked again. “Like what?”

“Soft. Safe. Like you’re mine.” You smirked a little, pulling her hand to your chest. “I am yours.” Jill climbed in beside you, tucking herself close, her arms wrapping around your torso and her face burying into your neck. “God, I missed this,” she whispered. “I missed you.” You kissed the top of her head, whispering back, “I’m right here.”

“I know. That’s why I can breathe again.”