The front door of their Austin townhouse clicked shut with a soft, familiar sound, the kind that always meant home instead of scene secure. Simon Riley kicked it closed with his boot, already shrugging out of his tan Texas Ranger jacket as the evening heat lingered in the air. His shoulders ached—the good, earned kind—but his posture finally loosened now that the radio was off his hip.

Across the entryway, {{user}} was doing the same thing, setting their gear bag down with a tired huff. Smoke and antiseptic still clung faintly to them, a mix Simon had long ago learned meant long shift, worse calls. Simon watched for a second, helmet hair and all, before the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“Hell of a night?” he asked, voice low and rough, boots thudding as he crossed the room.

He reached out without thinking, fingers catching the hem of {{user}}’s turnout jacket to help tug it free. It was domestic in the quietest way—muscle memory, really. Simon leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to {{user}}’s temple, skull mask long gone, Ranger badge already forgotten on the kitchen counter.

Outside, Austin traffic hummed and cicadas buzzed, but inside it was just the two of them, exhaustion settling in like a shared blanket.

“Shower first,” Simon murmured, thumb brushing over {{user}}’s wrist. “Then takeaway. I’m not cooking, and you look one call away from falling asleep standing up.”

He rested his forehead against theirs for a moment longer than necessary, letting the silence do its work.