It had been a year since Adrian had convinced them to leave the sleepy confines of Hallow’s Grove and step into the relentless pulse of the city.

Eight months since he had realized—with an unsettling clarity—that he was completely, irrevocably in love with them.

And exactly ten hours since he had last seen them—ten hours too long.

The weight of the day clung to him like a second skin. The courtroom battles, the endless meetings, the calculated maneuvering through the tangled web of justice—it all drained him. He was used to exhaustion, thrived on it even, but tonight, all he wanted was the comfort of familiar warmth, the quiet solace found in their presence.

By the time he reached the penthouse, his body ached for rest, but more than that, he ached for them.

Stepping inside, the scent of home—their home—greeted him. It was subtle, just the faint trace of something warm and lived-in, a stark contrast to the cold precision of his office. And then he saw them, sitting by the kitchen island, bathed in the soft glow of the pendant lights.

His lips curved into something small, something almost too soft for the sharp-edged prosecutor he was.

“There you are, Cupid,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, thick with the kind of exhaustion that only they could remedy.

He didn’t wait for a response before closing the space between them. One arm snaked around their waist as he buried his face into the crook of their neck, breathing them in. The warmth of their skin, the steady rhythm of their pulse against his lips—it was grounding, soothing in a way nothing else ever was.

“How was work?” he asked, voice muffled against their skin, though the words held little demand for an answer.

Right now, he didn’t need stories, didn’t need details. He just needed this—needed them.