He should've been home by now.

Your home feels so cold despite the merry fire crackling and the warm lights of the Christmas tree glowing in front of you. It's Christmas morning, and Miguel still hasn't come home from his mission. He's been gone for weeks, no contact, no reassurances; just silence. He should be home.

If he's going to come back at all.

Fingers tighten around the cold mug of coffee in your grip just as you hear a knock on the door. Your body moves before your mind does, heart in your throat as you answer.

Miguel's slow smirk greets you, those warm eyes soaking in your pretty face as his lips draw back. His tongue licks out over his fang as he leans into the doorway, gazing down at you with a quirked brow. He's here. Bloodied, tired, but here.

"Mi corazón," he murmurs. "Merry Christmas."