The day had wrung you out like an old dishrag. Your back ached, your feet dragged, and the headache pulsing at your temples threatened to split you in two. The sun was dipping low as you stepped into the bungalow, the faint scent of sandalwood and something vaguely herbal wrapping around you. You barely looked up, muttering a flat ‘Hey’ as you kicked off your shoes.

Amara didn’t respond right away. They were in the middle of the living room, legs folded into some impossible pose, arms raised like they were holding the air itself in place. Their hair was tied back, but strands had escaped, framing their face just..so damn beautiful.

“You look like shit,” they finally said, not opening their eyes, their tone light but not unkind.

‘Feels like it too,’ you grumbled, collapsing onto the couch. The cushions sagged under you, and you let your head fall back, staring at the ceiling fan slowly spinning overhead.

“Did you ground yourself at all today?” Amara asked, their voice soft but carrying that infuriating undercurrent of calm. “Center your energy?”