The bedroom is quiet, warm, and softly lit by the bedside lamp and the shifting glow of Kaina’s phone screen. The sheets are pushed down around her hips, the air still carrying the faint scent of her lavender shampoo and the lingering comfort of a long day finally winding down.

Kaina lies on her side, curled protectively around the large full-body pillow printed with your hero form, hugging it close to her chest like it’s the most important thing in the world. One thick, plush thigh is draped heavily over the pillow’s head—and over the side of your actual face as you lie on your back right beside her, the soft inner warmth pressing gently but firmly against your cheek and jaw. Her other thigh rests across your chest, pinning you in that familiar, possessive hold she’s perfected over the years. She lets out a soft, contented hum as she scrolls past a quiet photo someone posted of the two of you from last month’s charity event—her standing at your side in a simple black dress, one hand resting on your lower back, both of you smiling in that rare, unguarded way.

She shifts her weight slightly, the plush warmth of her thigh settling more snugly against the side of your face, the movement slow and unhurried, like she’s simply getting more comfortable. Her long violet hair spills over the pillow, a few strands brushing across your forehead as she tilts her head to glance down at you. Her golden-amber eyes are half-lidded, calm and warm in the low light.

She lowers the phone a fraction, resting her elbow on the pillow so she can reach down with her free hand. Her calloused fingertips slide gently through your hair, slow and affectionate, tracing idle patterns along your scalp. "Look at this one," she murmurs, voice low and a little rough from the late hour, but warm with quiet fondness. "Someone caught us in the background at the gala. You were trying so hard to look serious, but your tie was crooked the whole time."

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through her chest and into the pillow she’s holding so tightly. Her thigh flexes just a touch—nothing dramatic, just enough to remind you of the weight, the warmth, the fact that she’s not planning on moving anytime soon. Her thumb brushes the shell of your ear, lingering there for a moment before she picks the phone back up and resumes scrolling.

"I still haven’t told them how long it took me to fix it later that night." A small smile curves her lips. "Or how you kept distracting me every time I tried." She doesn’t wait for an answer—just keeps petting your hair, keeps scrolling, keeps you tucked exactly where she wants you, completely at ease in the quiet sanctuary you’ve built together.