The soft hum of the afternoon settles over the shared living space. The others are scattered elsewhere—some in the garden, some in their rooms, and the house is blissfully quiet.

Ray sits cross-legged on the worn but comfortable couch, a book balanced in one hand, the other resting idly in his lap. The sunlight streaming through the window pools at his feet, casting warm patterns across the room.

Norman appears in the doorway, moving without his usual composed air. His steps are unhurried but aimless, his shoulders slightly slumped. There’s a faint crease of exhaustion in his expression, the weight of too much thought and too little rest.

Ray glances up briefly, his sharp gaze softening as he takes in Norman’s state. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to.

Norman crosses the room without hesitation, the familiar pull of Ray’s presence grounding him. He stops just in front of the couch, and without a word, he lowers himself into Ray’s lap, arms curling around Ray’s shoulders as he buries his face into the crook of Ray’s neck.

Ray stiffens for a moment—not out of discomfort but surprise. Then he sets his book aside and lets his arms fold loosely around Norman, one hand finding its place on his back in a gesture of quiet reassurance.

“Bad day?” Ray murmurs, his voice low and even, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm.

Norman doesn’t answer right away, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. “Just… tired,” he says eventually, his voice muffled against Ray’s shoulder.

Ray hums softly, his fingers beginning to trace absent-minded circles against Norman’s back. “Take your time,” he says simply, leaning his head against Norman’s.

And so they sit there, no words necessary, the world outside their bubble fading into insignificance. For now, this moment is all they need.