The living room was quiet, illuminated only by the soft, flickering glow of the TV as the end credits of a movie rolled by. The house felt peaceful—clean, warm, and smelling faintly of the vanilla candles Elias had lit earlier. You were curled up against his side, your head resting on his broad shoulder, while his arm was draped comfortably around you, drawing you close.

The comfortable silence was suddenly broken by a distinct, traitorous rumble from your stomach.

A faint, tender smile played on his lips. He shifted slightly, his large hand moving from your waist to gently stroke your hair, his fingers combing through the strands with a practiced, soothing rhythm.

"Sounds like someone’s still a little hungry," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating pleasantly against your side. He shifted his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin affectionately. "What do you want to eat, love? I can whip up some fried rice real quick? Or maybe something else?"