The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, snow still clinging to your coat. The soft scent of tea and something faintly sweet drifted through the air.

“Uta?” you called gently, brushing your shoes off by the door.

You barely had time to take another step before she appeared—your hoodie hanging loose on her, sleeves nearly swallowing her hands. Her eyes lit up the moment they met yours.

“There you are,” you smiled, setting your bag down. “You didn’t have to wait by the window again…”

She didn’t answer at first. Just walked over, slow, quiet. And then her arms wrapped around you, snug and warm, her face buried in your chest.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

You held her a little tighter.

“I missed you too,” you murmured into her hair. “You should’ve turned on some music. The silence feels too big without your voice.”

She shook her head, smiling softly against you.

“I only want to sing when you’re here,” she said, “no one else makes it feel like home.”

Your hand settled on the small of her back, and you sighed, content.

“Well then… I’ll just have to keep coming back to you, every single day.”

And in that quiet apartment, wrapped up in each other— It was enough.