The front door clicked shut behind him.

Vince Scott, still in his white coat, tie loosened and sleeves pushed up, exhaled like the weight of the day slid off his shoulders the moment he stepped inside. It was past midnight again. Hospital lights still seemed to cling to him.

The apartment was dim, warm, quiet… except for the soft shuffle of you moving around the kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of his shirts like always. He stood there for a moment, just watching.

“Hey.” His voice was tired, but when he saw you, he smiled. The kind of smile that only existed for you. “You’re still awake.”

You turned to him, your eyes gentle even though you were just as exhausted. You had spent the entire day hunched over plans and sketches, deadlines piled on your desk. You should’ve been asleep hours ago. But you waited for him.

You always did.

You walked over and helped him peel off the heavy coat, your fingers slow, careful. He leaned into your touch like he needed it to breathe.

“How was your day?” you murmured.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gently touched your wrist, drawing you into him. The smallest swaying movement. A silent request.

The two of you began to sway in the quiet apartment. No music. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft sound of your breaths syncing.

Even exhausted, you both made time for this. For each other. His forehead fell to yours.

“Long,” he whispered. “But I’m home now.”

The world could be loud. Demanding. Heavy.

But here… in this moment… love was soft.