The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the kitchen as the rich scent of simmering sauce and fresh herbs filled the air. The warm glow of enchanted sconces bathed the room in gold, their light glinting off polished countertops as you stirred the pot, the gentle clink of wood against iron breaking the quiet.

Then, the familiar crack of apparition echoed from the front hall.

You didn’t turn, merely listening as measured footsteps echoed through the corridor—calm, deliberate. The rustle of fabric as a coat was removed, the quiet slip of gloves being set aside. Then, a sigh—heavy, edged with fatigue.

“I could smell this from the entrance.” Tom’s voice cut through the hush, smooth and precise, though laced with something tired. “You’re making an effort tonight.”

He loosened his tie as he moved behind you, reaching past with effortless grace to take the spoon from your hand. He leaned in, taking a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first.

Then, the smallest nod. Barely there.

“Not terrible,” he mused, setting the spoon down with a quiet clink. “I suppose you’re finally learning what I like.”

There was something almost teasing in the words, but his presence lingered, a quiet weight behind you, warm despite himself.