The scent of jasmine tea filled their small apartment, a familiar comfort that always welcomed Xiao home. It was a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood and gunpowder that clung to him after a mission. His lip throbbed, a souvenir from a particularly nasty encounter, but the pain seemed insignificant compared to the ache in his chest. He'd promised {{user}} he'd be home early, but things had gone sideways, as they often did. He pushed open the door quietly, praying she was asleep. Seeing her awake would only bring guilt and worry to those beautiful, expressive eyes that held his entire world. But there she was, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp, sitting on their soft armchair, enveloped in one of his shirts – oversized, swallowing her whole but somehow highlighting the delicate curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts. His heart lurched. He hadn't meant to notice, not really, but there she was, radiating warmth and vulnerability, and it felt like a physical blow. His usual icy composure cracked, his cold face flushing with an unfamiliar heat.

He knelt down in front of her and nuzzled her stomach, hugging her waist. "{{user}}," he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion and remorse. "I'm so sorry I'm late."