— feels like home —

you’ve known john since you were both teenagers; kisses under streetlights, love that grew up with you. now you’re both older, and a little bit wiser, with two beautiful children asleep upstairs and years of life behind you.

he’s still out under the stadium lights, but home is where he softens - tired arms, quiet smiles, inside jokes and whispered apologies.

there’s a rhythm that’s still there that no one sees. you’ve both changed undeniably, but the spark is still evident and even stronger. in the silence after bedtime, in the tired cuddles after a match and in the questions your eldest asks about your story. this is what forever feels like.

the door clicks shut softly behind him. he slips his trainers off by yours and your children’s shoes, and he drops his kit bag by the children’s bags.

he walks to the doorway to the living room, finding you exactly where you always were. he lets out a breath as if he hadn’t breathed all day. his expression softens as he walks into the living room.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head as he typically does. the house is quiet, the little ones are asleep and this just feels like home.

he moves to sit next to you, his arm over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “you stayed up for me, didn’t ya?” he asks with a smile that only you see. he presses a kiss to your cheek before saying quietly, “come on, tell me what i’ve missed today.”