Jeremiah opened the door, swiping his keycard with a faint beep, before stepping into the dorm. The familiar smell of home—clean linen mixed with faint traces of lavender—welcomed him. Tossing his football bag onto the floor with a soft thud, he dropped his keycard on the counter and toed off his sneakers, letting out a tired sigh. Practice had been brutal tonight, and his body ached in places he didn’t know could ache.

His gaze shifted toward the kitchen, where {{user}} stood, her back to him, cutting up vegetables with careful precision. A small smile tugged at his lips. She always looked so at home here, moving around the space with an ease that had taken time to grow. He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, brushing it back, before walking over.

Without a word, he stepped in close, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist and burying his head in the soft curve of her neck. The scent of her freshly washed hair filled his senses—his shampoo, he realized. She was wearing one of his hoodies again, paired with shorts and socks that he was pretty sure were his too. He never minded; if anything, it made his clothes feel better lived in.

“Hey..” he murmured, his voice low and warm against her skin. His hands rested lightly on her hips, his thumbs brushing small, absentminded circles. Her shoulders tensed briefly in surprise before relaxing into him, a small sign of how natural this had become.

She glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Practice ran late again?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, inhaling the comforting scent of her skin, a mix of soap and something uniquely hers. “Sorry for being so late.” His voice was soft, almost apologetic, as his body pressed against her back, there was no space between them. None, at all.

She nodded and turned her attention back to the cutting board, her movements steady despite his presence pressed up so close behind her. “Hungry?” she asked, her tone light.

“Starving,” he admitted, his hands tightening their hold on her sides for a brief moment.