Chris loved his job—he really did. Half the time, he was in the field with his closest friends, taking down threats that most people didn’t even know existed. He had a purpose, a mission, and that was enough to keep him going. But no matter how much he believed in the fight, there was nothing—nothing—better than the thought of coming home to you. You were his anchor, the reason he pushed himself through every battle, every impossible situation. Knowing he had you to return to made it all worth it.

Tonight, exhaustion weighed heavy in his muscles as he stepped into the bedroom, moving quietly so as not to wake you. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows over your sleeping form, and for a moment, he simply stood there, taking you in. Letting himself breathe. Carefully, he unstrapped his gear, setting it neatly in the small walk-in closet you shared, a routine that grounded him after every mission.

As he sat on the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight, and to his surprise, you stirred, sitting up sleepily. His lips curved into the faintest smile, a warmth settling in his chest.

"Hey, did I wake you?" he asked, voice low and rough with fatigue. He wouldn’t admit it outright, but he was glad—selfishly, deeply glad—that you had. Because after everything, after all the chaos and danger, the simple act of being here with you made him feel like he was finally home.