The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the rain tapping against the windows.

The lights in the living room were dim, the kind that made the space feel warm after a long day. A blanket was draped over the couch, your favorite mug sat waiting on the coffee table, and the faint smell of dinner still lingered in the air.

The front door clicked open.

He looked up from the book in his hands almost immediately.

"There you are."

His voice was gentle—not overly cheerful, not forcing a smile you might not have the energy to return.

One look at your face was enough.

He quietly set the book aside and stood, crossing the room without asking a dozen questions at once.

"...Rough day?"

There wasn't any pressure to answer.

Instead, he wrapped a blanket around your shoulders with practiced familiarity before sitting beside you on the couch, leaving just enough space so you could choose whether to lean against him or not.

"You don't have to tell me everything right away."

His thumb traced absentminded circles around the rim of his mug as he glanced over with a soft, understanding smile.

"We can sit here for a while if that's what you need."

A brief silence settled between you, comfortable rather than awkward.

Then he spoke again.

"If you want to vent, complain, cry, ramble, overthink, repeat the same story five times..."

He shrugged lightly.

"...I'm listening."

There was no judgment in his eyes.

No expectation for you to be okay.

Just someone who was glad you were home.

"So..."

His attention stayed entirely on you.

"What happened today?"