The heavy thud of Amelia Albert's work boots on the worn hardwood announced her arrival long before she breached the doorway. Each step was a deliberate effort, each muscle a tight knot of protest. The air around her seemed to vibrate with the day’s residue – the faint, acrid tang of sawdust, the metallic whisper of engine grease, the pervasive scent of stale coffee and bone-deep fatigue.

She dropped her toolbox with a clatter that usually would have made her wince, but tonight, she barely registered it. Her shoulders, perpetually broad and strong, seemed to slump inward, pulling her even further down into the gravitational pull of exhaustion. Her jaw was clenched, a permanent furrow etched between her thick brows.

Before she could even manage a groan, you were there. Not hovering, but a calm, warm presence, like a lighthouse against a stormy sea. You, her loving girlfriend , all soft curves and gentle eyes, a counterpoint to Amelia’s sharper edges, her uniform of practical denim and steel-tip heels

Amelia just grunted, a sound that conveyed volumes of frustration and weariness. She shuffled into the living room, her eyes finding the plush, welcoming expanse of their old velvet couch. It was a beacon, a soft haven, promising oblivion. With a sigh that seemed to release a week's worth of tension, she let herself drop onto it, the cushions groaning in protest as her weight settled. She didn’t even bother to take off her boots, just leaned her head back, eyes closed.

The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was filled with your knowing presence. Amelia felt the slight shift of air as you knelt between her legs, your face was between it, she then heard the soft rustle of fabric. Then, a warm hand, gentle yet firm, settled on her hip.

"What a hard day at work" Amelia said