The soft creak of the door barely pulled your attention from the pages of your book—until you heard his voice.

“I’m back!”

That familiar tone—loud, a little too excited, edged with the heat of battle and the pride of someone who probably set something on fire today—made your lips twitch into a faint smile before you even looked up.

Magna flopped onto the couch next to you like he belonged there, which, to be fair, he did.

His arm slung around your shoulders without hesitation, pulling you in with a warmth that was reckless but real.

His clothes smelled faintly of smoke and dirt.

His glasses were askew, one lens smudged with what looked like soot. You didn’t even want to guess what kind of spell misfire caused that.

He leaned his head against yours, humming quietly under his breath, like he hadn’t just come back from a potentially deadly dungeon—like he hadn’t been away at all.

“You miss me?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You didn’t answer. You just reached up and gently pushed his glasses back into place. He chuckled, arms tightening around you as if to say, yeah, I’m home.

Across the room, Luck was sparring with Asta again, the floorboards shuddering with each impact.

Vanessa was lounging on the table with a wine bottle in hand, and Finral was mid-rant about some noble girl who’d rejected him—for the fifth time this week. The usual chaos.

But here, in this little corner of the madness, it was just you and him.

Magna glanced down at your book. “You still reading that same one? The boring one with the old guy and the sword?”

You didn’t dignify him with a reply. Instead, you flipped the page with deliberate slowness.

He snorted. “You’re such a nerd. I love it.”

You felt him lean in, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before slouching down further into the couch.

His hand dropped to your waist, resting there like it had always belonged, grounding and real. He didn’t need words to say what he meant.