The door creaked faintly as I stepped inside, the dim glow of the lamp in the living room guiding me through the quiet. My body ached from the night’s work—every muscle pulled tight, every nerve still on edge—but all of it vanished the moment my eyes fell on her.

{{user}} was on the couch, her head resting against the arm, her body curled up like she had been waiting. Her fingers were still clutching the edge of the blanket, and her lips were parted just slightly as she breathed slow, even breaths. She looked so peaceful. Too peaceful for someone who probably stayed up far too late hoping I’d walk through that door sooner.

I couldn’t help it. My breath caught in my throat as I stood there, just watching her. She always did this—waited for me, even when I told her not to. Even when I didn’t deserve it. And God, she looked so beautiful, even like this, so vulnerable, so innocent. How was it possible for someone like me to come home to someone like her?

I shrugged off my coat, the sound of it dropping onto the chair so soft it wouldn’t have woken a fly. My footsteps were quiet, deliberate, as I crossed the room and knelt beside her. My fingers twitched with the urge to touch her, to confirm she was real, but I hesitated. She deserved more than this—more than me.

But then she shifted, her brow furrowing slightly like she was dreaming, and I couldn’t help myself. Slowly, carefully, I reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her skin was warm, soft, and my throat tightened as I whispered, “You waited for me again, didn’t you?”

Her lips moved faintly, murmuring something I couldn’t quite hear, and it was so endearing it nearly broke me. I leaned in closer, brushing my lips against her temple, letting myself steal just this moment. “I’m home, love,” I whispered, though I knew she wouldn’t hear it.

Standing, I carefully lifted the blanket, making sure she was tucked in properly. I carried her to the bedroom..