The door clicked shut with a familiar weight, the sound echoing through the quiet evening hum of the house. {{user}} looked up from the soft clatter of dishes, just in time to see their husband stepping inside—tie half-loosened, blazer still clinging to his shoulders, exhaustion etched into his posture.

But his eyes found theirs instantly.

He didn’t say a word at first. He simply walked straight to them, as if drawn by gravity stronger than weariness. A small smile curled on {{user}}’s lips.

“How was work?” they asked gently, voice a soothing balm to a long day.

He slipped his hands around their waist, pulling them close until their bodies met like puzzle pieces. His chin came to rest on the crown of their head, and he exhaled deeply—into their scent, their warmth, their presence.

“It was bad,” he murmured. “I missed you, baby.”

{{user}} smiled again, this time with quiet empathy, and stepped back slightly. They slipped his blazer off with practiced care, folding it over one arm. He lazily began unbuttoning the top of his shirt, undoing the formalities of the day.

“Go and change for dinner, please,” they said, soft but firm.

He gave a mock-salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

But instead of heading toward the bedroom, he trailed after them as they turned to the kitchen. When {{user}} reached the counter, he was right there again—wrapping his arms around them from behind, pressing his chest against their back like he couldn’t bear the distance.

“Let me just hug my wife for a few more minutes,” he whispered into their ear.

(Why this lowk cringy for me 😬)