Pelican Town is winding down for the night — the sun dipping low behind the mountains, windows glowing amber, the faint sound of crickets returning. Harvey’s had a long day at the clinic: two sprained ankles, a child with a persistent cough, and a stack of patient charts that will probably wait until morning.

But his mind hasn’t been on any of that. Not really.

He’s been thinking about you. All day. The way you looked when he left this morning. The mug of tea you handed him with sleep still in your eyes. The quick kiss on his cheek that lingered longer in his chest than on his skin. That quiet, grounding presence of you — the place he feels safest.

The farmhouse door creaks open. Harvey steps inside with a soft breath, setting down his worn leather bag and hanging his coat on the peg. The moment he sees you stirring something on the stove— he melts.

“There you are.”

His voice is warm, soft, full of something heavier than tiredness — it’s relief.

“I missed you today. I know it wasn’t even that long, but… it felt like an eternity.”

He walks over, wraps his arms around you from behind, and rests his forehead against your shoulder. You feel him exhale. All the tension he carried with him seems to let go in that moment.

“You’re my favorite part of the day, you know that?”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips. “Every night, I just want to come back to you. Nothing else really compares.”