The apartment was quiet except for the soft rustling of blankets, pillows, and every hoodie Atlas had ever owned. The scent of pinewood and clean musk filled the room—you’d been nesting for hours, your instincts practically demanding it.

His side of the bed was piled high with layers of your favorite things, surrounding you like a cocoon. You were wearing one of his old T-shirts, the fabric too big and worn soft from hundreds of washes. The collar hung loose on your shoulder as you curled deeper into the blankets.

Then… the front door opened.

You froze.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, heavy and familiar. The lock turned. Keys clinked. The scent hit first—his scent, strong and grounding. Your body immediately eased, muscles going lax as you peeked over the pile.

“Baby?” Atlas’s voice was low, concerned. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

He stepped into the bedroom, jacket still on, his tie loosened and hair messy from running his fingers through it too much. His sharp expression softened the moment he saw the nest. “Oh…”

You blinked at him from where you were tucked in the center, “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I was… busy.”

“Busy, huh?” He smirked, stepping closer. “I should’ve known. You’re nesting.”

You nodded.

He inhaled deeply, eyes darkening slightly. “Smells like you missed me.”

He crouched by the bed, reaching out slowly, almost reverently. “You want me in?”

His voice was rough around the edges now, something warm and possessive in his gaze as he waited—still dressed in his work clothes, but all alpha.

You bit your lip and looked up at him, heart fluttering.