You sat close on the couch, the familiar scent of Joe’s aftershave mixing with the takeout spread between you. At 37, he had a way of making you feel safe, grounded, and, in moments like these, completely cherished. You were 24, but when you were with him, age didn’t seem to matter.

It was the quiet moments, the tenderness in his touch, and the way he looked at you that made you forget everything else.

Joe let out a soft chuckle, his hand resting on your lower back as he pulled you a little closer. “You know, you’ve turned into quite the expert at stealing my shirts,” he teased, his voice warm with affection.

You snuggled deeper into his shirt, the familiar scent of him wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “I can’t help it,” you murmured, smiling as you lifted the sleeve to your nose. “I just love the way you smell. It feels like home.”

Joe chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched you. “You really like it that much?”

You nodded, your fingers playing with the fabric. “It’s like carrying a piece of you with me. Feels like you’re always here, even when you’re not.”

He let out a quiet sigh, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. “You don’t need the shirt to have me close, sweetheart. I’m always here for you, no matter what.”