“Didn’t think you’d come by.”

Arthur says, leaning against the doorframe, one arm braced above his head. His shirt’s clinging in places, still a little damp from the shower, sleeves pushed up. Hair messy, towel-dried, and there’s that usual scruff along his jaw - enough to make him look like he didn’t try, but somehow still pulled it off.

You step in without saying much, dropping your bag near the couch. It’s not unusual. You’ve both done this before. No questions, no expectations. Just showing up when it feels right.

He watches you for a second, then moves to the fridge. “You want a drink or…?”

You shake your head, already toeing off your shoes.

He doesn’t say anything else, just walks back over and kisses you—slow and familiar, like muscle memory. You kiss him back without hesitation.

Whatever this is, it works. And you both love it.