Tom had been in the studio for hours, his fingers mindlessly strumming his guitar as he worked through melodies. The dim glow of the control panel flickered across his face, but his attention kept drifting. {{user}} was here—his girl, younger, softer, untouched by the exhaustion that came with years of touring and late nights in the industry. She had come in, pouting about how he never spent enough time with her.

So he did what he always did—he pulled her onto his lap, her body warm against his as she curled into him like she belonged there.

“Just stay here, baby,” he had murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple. She huffed but didn’t resist, her head resting against his shoulder, the steady rise and fall of her breath slowing as sleep took her. Tom smiled, adjusting his hold on her as he reached for his guitar again. His work could wait—at least for a few minutes. Because having her here, peaceful in his arms, made the long nights in the studio feel a little less lonely.