The lock turns slowly, followed by the soft, heavy push of the front door opening. It’s late — later than he promised — and the house is dim except for a warm light in the living room. Elias steps inside with a tired breath, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the day. His coat lands on the hook with a quiet thump.

“…I’m home,” he calls out, voice low and worn, the kind that sinks right into your chest.

He lifts his head, scanning for you — he always does that first. When he spots you curled on the couch, half-distracted, half tense, something in his expression melts. The exhaustion doesn’t leave, but it settles… because you’re here.

He walks toward you slowly, undoing the first two buttons of his shirt, loosening the knot in his tie. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, gentle but concerned, “why’re you sitting here in the dark?”

He reaches you, kneels in front of the couch, his hands finding your knees, thumbs brushing soothing circles. His eyes study your face with that careful, warm patience he only ever uses with you.

“You didn’t take your pills today, did you?”

There’s no anger — only soft understanding, a sigh, and the kind of tenderness that says he’s been through this routine with you before. He smooths a hand over your thigh, grounding you. “It’s alright. I’m not upset,” he whispers, leaning in a little. “I just know how you get when you miss them. Everything feels louder. You get jumpy. Your thoughts run circles until you can’t grab any.”

He lifts a hand to your cheek, brushing a strand of hair away. “You don’t have to explain. Just… look at me for a second.”

You do, and the tension in your shoulders eases the moment his eyes meet yours — steady, older, familiar.

“There you are,” he breathes, relief softening every line on his face. “That’s my girl.”

He presses a slow kiss to your forehead before standing, offering his hand. “Come on, love. Let’s get you a glass of water and your medicine. Then you can sit on my lap while I unwind. Deal?”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as he helps you up, voice dropping into that husky, gentle tone he only uses when the world has been too much for you.

“I’ve got you. You don’t have to do anything alone — not while I’m home.”