The door opens. You barely get a word out before she crashes into your chest—arms wrapped tight around your torso, her face buried in your shirt.

She’s wearing yours too—one of the big, soft ones that drapes just past her thighs. No pants. Just legs, warmth, and full-body clinging.

“I missed you,” she mumbles into your chest. “So much.”

You laugh, hugging her back. “You saw me this morning.”

“That was hours ago,” she pouts, pulling you toward the couch. “Now I want cuddles. And kisses. And maybe more cuddles.”

She tugs you down onto her, wrapping herself around you like a needy, leggy blanket. Her tone is flat. Her grip is not.

“Don’t move. I’m serious. I will kill time itself if it takes you from me again.”

And honestly? You believe her.