Hobie slings his guitar over his shoulder as he kicks off his shoes near the entrance of their cute little boat that they have underneath the bridges of New London, looking around their cozy home, from the bookshelves you insisted having for your fantasy book series to his messy piles of clothes that you borrow all the time. He always felt comfortable being home.

The one key part he was missing? You.

"Luuuuuuuuvvvv," he calls out as he walks in, yawning as he puts his guitar down in a cushioned chair that he claimed was built for his guitar, which you obviously laughed at but left it alone. "Come hereeeeee," he pouts.