The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp barely pushing back the shadows that seem heavier tonight. The quiet hum of the city outside your window does little to distract you from the ache in your chest. Your phone sits on the nightstand, her last text still open, her name at the top of the screen making you miss her even more. Paget. The distance is usually manageable, but tonight it feels like the miles between you are a chasm.

You roll onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin, trying to will yourself to sleep. Thoughts of her flood your mind ; her laugh, the way she wrinkles her nose when she’s teasing, the warmth of her voice when she tells you she loves you. You close your eyes, pretending for a moment she’s beside you, her arm draped lazily over your waist, her breath soft against your neck.

The faint sound of a key turning in the lock jolts you upright. Your heart skips. It couldn’t be her - it’s too late, and she didn’t mention coming home. But then you hear it: the familiar creak of the door opening, followed by the quiet thud of it closing.

“Babe?” Her voice carries through the apartment, tentative yet unmistakable.

You’re on your feet in an instant, heart racing as you rush to the bedroom door. And there she is, standing in the entryway, still in her travel clothes, hair a little messy, her suitcase by her side. She’s smiling, her eyes tired but full of love.