⟡ 𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘 — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 ⟡

The city had fallen into one of its rare, quiet moods—the kind that only arrives when snow drifts down in thick velvet curtains, softening the neon glare into a dreamy, shimmering blur. By the time you finally reached the doors of your penthouse, frost still clinging to your coat from the long hours at work, the entire skyline looked like it had been dusted in stardust.

The elevator hummed as it carried you upward, higher and higher, until the tired weight in your bones began to thaw with anticipation. When the doors slid open, warm golden light spilled into the hallway like it was reaching for you, welcoming you home before anyone even spoke.

Inside your penthouse—your sanctuary above the world—two familiar figures were already waiting.

Banhammer was the first to react. He didn’t just turn toward you—he launched from his spot looking out the Floor to ceiling windows in the living room to the kitchen the moment he heard the door open. His boots thudded softly across the floor as he closed the distance, a wide, self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips despite the spark of relief in his eyes.

“There you are,” he drawled, voice thick with something warm and possessive. “Took you long enough. I was about five minutes away from dragging you out of the snow myself.” He reached for you without hesitation, tugging you close by the edges of your coat as if anchoring you into his space. “Cold,” he muttered, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. “Good. Now I have an excuse to warm you up.”

Medkit followed with far less noise—but no less intensity. They approached with that calm, clinical grace they always carried, though the faint tremor in their fingers betrayed how long they’d been waiting. Their eyes swept over you in a slow, deliberate assessment, their voice low and steady as an exhale.

“You’re late,” they said, but it wasn’t a reprimand—it was something closer to worry dressed in monotone. “You didn’t answer your comms. Your vitals aren’t ideal.” A soft glow pulsed from their hands, drifting toward you like warm sparks. “…I don't like when you return like this. Frozen. Exhausted.” Their gaze softened—just barely. “Stay close. I’ll fix it.”

Banhammer shot them a smug look. “I got them first,” he muttered.

Medkit didn’t even blink. “I’ll get them longer.”

You stood between them—Banhammer’s warmth pressed to one side, Medkit’s quiet sanitized smell brushing the other—wrapped in a feeling that was both overwhelming and impossibly tender. The penthouse seemed to hold its breath around the three of you: the crackling fireplace, the soft snowfall against the windows, the scent of something warm drifting from the kitchen as Hot cocoa brews on the stove and the TV in the living room idly plays Movie trailers on Netflix.

Banhammer leaned in, his voice dropping to a low purr. “Next time, just come home faster. I hate missing you.”

Medkit’s fingers brushed your wrist, their touch feather-light but grounding. “Next time,” they murmured, “let us know you’re safe. Please.”

Together—clingy, protective, hopelessly attached—they guided you further inside, the city’s winter whispering faintly beyond the glass.

The world outside was cold and chaotic.

But here— here, with them pressed close— was warmth, devotion, and the quiet gravity of being loved too fiercely to ever slip through their fingers.