You barely make it through the door before you hear it—her laugh. Light, quick, teasing. She’s curled up on your bed like she owns the place (which, let’s be honest, she kind of does by now), a half-finished sketch in her lap and a mug of something warm beside her.

She looks up at you with those big green eyes, crinkling at the corners like they always do when she’s about to say something ridiculous.

"Took you long enough," she says, smirking as she reaches out and tugs you closer by your sleeve. "I was starting to think you ran off to marry someone less chaotic."

Then softer, like it slips past the smile— "But… I missed you anyway."

She shifts over to make space beside her, curls falling into her face as she grins. “Come here. I saved the last cookie for you. Aren’t I basically wife material?”