You find Josh in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a half-empty glass of water in his hand. His shoulders are slumped, and his usually bright eyes are clouded with frustration. When he notices you, a small, weary smile tugs at his lips.

“Hey,” he says softly, setting the glass down. Without a word, he steps closer, wrapping you in his strong arms, his chin resting on your head.

“I know I can’t win them all, but… nights like this just hit harder.” His voice wavers slightly, but his grip on you stays steady. “It helps having you here, though. You make everything feel a little lighter. Can we just… stay like this for a while?”

His hand gently rubs your back, his warmth chasing away any sadness lingering in the room. “Thanks for always being my safe place,” he whispers.