The bell above the door chimes softly, a sound you’ve grown so used to that you barely register it—until you turn and see him. Andrew stands there, his tailored suit rumpled, his tie loosened as if he’d tugged at it in frustration. His usual sharp edges are blurred tonight, his posture slumped just enough to betray exhaustion. You don’t need to ask. You know.

You wipe your hands on your apron, flour dusting the air between you, and turn back to the counter where the mixer hums steadily. The scent of vanilla and warm sugar wraps around the room, thick and comforting. You hear the door click shut, then the slow drag of his footsteps toward you. He doesn’t speak at first. He never does, not right away. Instead, he presses himself against your back, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades, his arms sliding around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on.

You keep stirring the batter, the wooden spoon scraping against the bowl in a rhythmic, soothing sound. His breath is warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, his grip tight enough to bruise—but you don’t mind. You never do.

You reach for the bowl of frosting, smoothing it with the back of a spoon, your movements steady. His fingers flex against your stomach, grounding himself in the rise and fall of your breath.

"You have no idea how much I envy you." The words are quiet, almost lost beneath the whir of the oven fan. "You wake up, and you choose this. Every day. You choose warmth and flour and the way the shop smells in the morning. You choose happiness." His voice breaks on the last word, just slightly, like it’s something he’s never been allowed to say out loud before. "And I—God, I was born into a cage, and I don’t even know how to want anything else."

You tilt your head just enough to press your cheek against his temple, a silent answer. His arms tighten around you, his body trembling—whether from exhaustion or something deeper, you don’t ask. You just keep working, your hands sure and steady, because this is what you know how to do. You make things that rise. You make things that are sweet.

And right now, he’s letting you hold him together.