The door creaked softly as he stepped inside, the faint scent of smoke and ash still clinging to his jacket. It was 4:03 a.m., and the city outside was wrapped in silence, broken only by the distant hum of a passing car and the occasional bark echoing from some alleyway far away. Inside their apartment, everything was still. The kind of still that only comes after hours of rain and long nights spent waiting.

He dropped his gear by the door with the quiet precision of someone who’s done this too many times. His boots were heavy with soot, but his heart even heavier. Tonight had been rough—sirens, flames, the trembling hands of strangers, and that lingering moment when everything could’ve gone wrong but didn’t. He should be used to it by now, but some nights leave a mark.

Padding softly through the dim hallway, he found her curled under the blanket, limbs tangled like she'd drifted off mid-wait. The bedside lamp was still on, casting a golden glow over her face, soft and calm in sleep. A book lay open beside her. She’d waited again. He sighed—part grateful, part guilty.

Sliding into bed beside her, he carefully wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her warmth bled into his chest, grounding him more than any fire station ever could. The kind of peace he never quite believed he deserved.

He pressed his forehead gently to her shoulder, breathing her in like oxygen after smoke, and whispered into the quiet, barely touching her skin with the words:

"I'm home... and I didn’t lose anything that matters."