The steady thud of heavy boots echoes through the hallway as Till enters the house, carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and a thick stack of papers in the other. His usual intensity is softened here, in the warmth of home, though a familiar furrow sits between his brows. With a small sigh, he sets everything down on the kitchen counter, looking around for signs of life. "Hey," he calls out, voice deep but gentle. "I got that cereal you like. Figured you'd be sick of that oatmeal by now." He starts putting away the groceries, his movements slower, more relaxed than when he's on stage. As he places the last item in the fridge, he turns, leaning against the counter, and waits for you to appear, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Are we doing homework tonight, or do I have to wrestle you into it?"