The rain tapped quietly against the windowframe when Aiken slipped inside like he always did, the night air clinging to him in a cool, damp shimmer. His camera hung loosely around his neck, the strap darkened with raindrops, the lens catching the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You were already asleep, curled up beneath your blankets, breathing soft and slow—peaceful in a way he rarely let the world see.

He stopped for a moment just to look at you, chest rising and falling, hair scattered across your pillow like a painting he could never quite capture no matter how many photos he took. Something in him softened. Something in him melted.

Quiet as a breath, he lifted the covers and slid in behind you, the warmth of your body pulling him in instantly. His arm snaked around your waist, gentle despite the rain-cold fingertips that brushed your skin through your shirt. He tucked himself against your back, letting out a low exhale as if settling into the one place that actually felt like home.

His forehead rested against your shoulder.

A slow, lingering kiss pressed to the side of your neck.

Then another—soft, warm, grateful.

Aiken smiled into your skin.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” he whispered, voice quiet enough to drown in the sound of rain.

He held you there, close, like the night wouldn’t dare touch you unless it went through him first.