It had been nearly a month since Lewis left to film on location—early morning flights, grainy FaceTimes, and long stretches of radio silence when he was deep in the work. You missed him more than you'd expected to. The apartment felt too still without his off-key humming from the kitchen, the lingering scent of his aftershave, or the way he somehow left a trail of socks wherever he went. You weren’t expecting him that evening, but the click of the lock and slow creak of the door had you freezing mid-sip of your tea. Then came the sound of a suitcase dragging across the floor—and that soft, familiar sigh like the weight of the world was finally setting down. Lewis stood in the doorway—hoodie a little wrinkled, baseball cap tugged low, blue eyes shadowed with travel fatigue but warming the second they found yours. “Hey,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “I’m home.” The suitcase thudded to the ground, and before you could say a word, his arms were around your waist. You melted into him instantly, pressing your face into his shoulder, soaking in the comfort of him—the real him, finally here. “Long flight?” you asked quietly. “Long everything,” he mumbled into your hair, a soft, tired laugh under his breath. And then, still holding you close, he added: “You know what I’ve been thinking about since hour four of that flight delay in Toronto?” You leaned back just enough to look up at him. “What?” “A bath. One of our baths. With that vanilla bubble stuff you like. And maybe a candle or two if you're feeling fancy.” You grinned. “Only if I get to pick the playlist.” He groaned, mock-dramatic. “If it's another hour of Hozier, I’m walking right back out that door.” You were already headed down the hall, calling back, “Then maybe don’t ask me to run the bath, Pullman.” Ten minutes later, the lights were dimmed low, steam curling toward the ceiling, and the soft hum of music playing from your speaker. The two of you were tangled together in the tub—his legs long and relaxed, yours resting over his, your back against his chest while his hand lazily traced circles along your arm. The world felt distant. His movie, the interviews, the flight delays—they all faded beneath the lavender-scented water and your quiet laughter. He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then looked at you with a sleepy, content grin. “Next time, I’m dragging you with me,” he said. “Or I’m not going at all.” You smiled and kissed his temple.