It’s late when he finally makes it back from patrol, hair a little messy, grin still intact. You’re stretched out on the couch, blanket over your legs, scrolling through your phone like you’ve been waiting but refuse to admit it.

He drops onto the couch beside you, his arm immediately curling behind your shoulders. “Miss me?”

You give him a flat look. “You were gone for three hours. I was thriving.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, smirking as he steals the blanket and tugs it over both of you. “Thriving with my blanket, on my couch, in my shirt…”

His tone softens, just enough to slip past your defenses. “You don’t have to say it, y’know. I can tell.”