The knock was soft but unmistakable, three taps in a rhythm you knew by heart. Then, slowly, the door creaked open and George’s familiar mop of red hair peeked through the gap.

“I brought treats,” he said with a small grin, nudging the door open fully.

In one hand, he held a shopping bag that crinkled with promise. Draped over his other arm was that oversized jumper, the one that technically belonged to him, but you’d stolen long ago. He stepped into the room without asking, already toeing off his shoes.

The mattress dipped as he climbed in beside you, offering the bag with a raised brow and that lazy, knowing smile. You didn’t have to say a word, he’d remembered everything. The exact crisps, sweets, even that one drink you only ever craved during this week of absolute misery.

“I also brought you your favourite jumper,” he said lightly, even though it had always been his. You pulled it on, the familiar scent of him wrapping around you as you leaned into his waiting arms.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and shifted so you could nestle against his chest.

“Cuppa?” he offered, voice low, fingers already playing with the ends of your hair.