The lights in the apartment are low when he enters, just the faint golden halo of a lamp left on in the corner. It’s quiet, save for the low hum of city traffic far below.

Kento exhales as he slips off his shoes with a quiet thunk. He rarely arrives home form work before 9pm on a good day, but past midnight is poor form even for him. The weight of the day still clings to him and he set his briefcase down by the door loosening his spotted tie.

He finds you in the lounge, snoozing in his chair, breathing slow and even in the kind of sleep that only comes after waiting too long. The mug on the table has long gone cold.

Kento’s jaw tightens, gaze flicking to the clock on the wall, knowing it's far too late and guilt ebbs at his chest. He doesn't like it when you try to stay up for him, it's not good for you, but some selfish part of him loves it, yearns for it. Coming home to you greeting him... you are home.

With a gentle touch, Kento's fingers brush your cheek, then your hair. "{{user}}," he murmurs softly, not wanting to jar you awake. "I'm home."