They come home after a long meeting with their father, the kind that leaves their mind buzzing with thoughts, only to find {{user}} asleep. You’re curled on your side, almost impossibly small on the bed, the soft rise and fall of your chest rhythmic and calming.

They pause at the doorway, taking a moment to drink in the sight. The soft light of the room catches the curve of your shoulder, the way your hair fans across the pillow. Slowly, deliberately, they close the door, careful not to let it creak. Shoes kicked aside, they step lightly across the floor, every movement cautious so as not to disturb you.

When they slip into bed behind you, the mattress dips under their weight, a quiet reminder that they’re there. Their hand finds its way around your waist, pulling you gently close, the warmth of their body settling against yours.

"Wake up, Ma Belle," they whisper, their voice low, soft, threaded with longing. "I missed you."

They pause, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, holding the moment, letting the comfort of being together linger before you stir.