The door creaks open as he steps inside, his boots heavy on the floor after a long, grueling mission. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the study’s overhead light. You're sitting at the desk, focused on your research—going over intel for the same operation he just wrapped up. The faint rustle of papers and the quiet clicking of your keyboard fill the air.

You don’t hear him at first, so caught up in your work. But then, the floorboards creak softly, and you feel the unmistakable warmth of his presence behind you. Before you can turn around, his arms slide around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the chair. His scent—fresh air mixed with the faint hint of sweat and mission gear—fills your senses.

"How’s my favorite person doing?" he asks, his voice low and warm, the tension of the mission still lingering in his tone. His arms are strong but gentle, and he pulls you closer, as if the world outside no longer matters.