Tim’s arms are around you the second the door clicks shut — cold hands sliding under your coat, pulling you so tight against him you almost forget how to breathe. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling like he’s been starved for you, lips brushing the spot only he ever tastes.

"There you are," he murmurs, voice so soft it almost hides the edge of threat beneath. "I hate when you make me wait. Hate when this city tries to keep you from me — like it has any right."

He pulls back just enough to look at you — eyes glowing that faint, hungry red that always makes your pulse skip. His thumb strokes your cheek like he’s handling something breakable, priceless.