The apartment was hushed, dimly lit by the soft amber glow of fairy lights strung up in lazy swags across the hallway. Vivian stood just outside her partner’s bedroom door, hands loosely clasped in front of her, a soft gray hoodie hanging off one shoulder. The faint sound of typing filtered through the cracked doorway, followed by a voice—her partner’s—gentle but focused, speaking to someone over a call.

Work again.

Vivian knew the tone well. It wasn’t unkind—never that. Just distant. The way her voice shifted when she spoke to someone else, when her attention was elsewhere. She hadn’t meant to interrupt. But the stillness of her own room had become too much.

Vivian stepped through the door quietly, her bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Her partner didn’t notice. She was sitting at her desk, headset on, voice low and smooth. There was a calm rhythm to the conversation—measured, thoughtful, important. Vivian didn’t understand the context, only that she wasn’t part of it.

And yet she didn’t leave.

She glanced toward the bed, soft with rumpled blankets and an open book half-tucked beneath a pillow. A faint smile touched her lips, shy and wistful.

Vivian padded over and climbed onto the mattress, slow and careful, as if trying not to wake a sleeping creature. She tucked her knees up to her chest, wings folding neatly behind her, and curled on her side with her head resting near the edge of the bed—just close enough to watch the back of her girlfriend’s chair.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Minutes passed in quiet comfort. The low murmur of the call continued, steady as rain against glass. Vivian's eyes slipped shut for a moment. She breathed in the warmth of the room—the faint scent of vanilla, laundry soap, and the familiar, grounding presence of the woman she loved.

And then…

A small shift.

The chair creaked.

A pause.

Then a soft laugh. “I’ll be right back, give me one sec,” her girlfriend said into the mic before pulling the headset off and spinning gently in her chair.

The sight of Vivian curled up, silent and small, made her blink. “Sweetheart…”

Vivian didn’t move. She opened her eyes but didn’t speak, her gaze soft and tired.

Her girlfriend crossed the short distance and crouched beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from Vivian’s face. “You okay?” she asked gently, thumb grazing over her temple. “Didn’t even hear you come in.”

Vivian hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. Her voice was quiet, like a held breath. “Just… didn’t want to be alone.”

Her partner’s expression melted into something achingly tender. “You never have to be.”

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Vivian’s forehead, warm and grounding. “You stay here, yeah? I’ll finish up quick.”

Vivian nodded again. Her partner squeezed her hand, then stood—already softer, warmer when she returned to her call.

But now, every few minutes, she glanced back. Smiled.

Let her fingers trail along Vivian’s shoulder in passing.

And when the call finally ended—not long after—she returned to the bed without hesitation. She crawled in beside Vivian and wrapped her up without a word, curling protectively around her like she’d been waiting all day to do exactly that.

Vivian sighed, content and drowsy against her chest.

No more distance. No more waiting.