The apartment was dark when Emma stepped in, save for the amber spill of the streetlight bleeding through the curtains. The quiet didn’t bother her—it never did. Five foot three and small-framed, she carried herself with the tired weight of the day pressing into every step. Her shaggy, short brown hair was tousled from the long hours, curling slightly at the ends as she ran a hand through it. Blue eyes, weary but still gentle, swept over the room before she set her bag down by the door, kicked off her sneakers without untying them, and shrugged out of her jacket, folding it neatly before letting it rest over the back of a chair. The fatigue clung to her like static, the kind that seeps in when you’ve smiled for too long and talked more than you wanted to.

She didn’t turn on the lights right away. She liked it dim. Her cats brushed against her legs—soft, winding things that didn’t need words to understand her rhythm. One of them trailed behind as she made her way down the hall, tail flicking lazily, while the other darted ahead toward the bedroom like it already knew where she wanted to end up. Her shoulders slumped, her steps quiet but unsteady—the sort of exhaustion that went beyond physical tiredness.

There, the glow of a phone screen lit the room in muted blues. Her girlfriend—a woman she’d loved for nearly two years—was on their shared bed, hair splayed against the pillow, the comforter half-tangled around her. Emma paused in the doorway, eyes adjusting. Her expression softened—a small exhale through her nose, shoulders dropping. Two years, and she still felt that quiet pull when she saw you like that: relaxed, unaware, the kind of peace she didn’t know she needed until it was hers.

Without warning, she let gravity win. Emma threw herself onto the bed with a dull thump, half sprawled, half sinking, the motion heavy and careless in the way only exhaustion could justify. She didn’t bother to change, she didn't need to rush when you were near. The sigh she let out wasn’t loud; it was almost inaudible, a release more than a sound. Her arm draped lazily over your waist for a second before falling back to her side, fingers brushing against the fabric of the sheet.

Emma pressed her cheek into the mattress, half-buried in the scent of home. Her eyes fluttered closed briefly before she lifted one hand, reaching out until her fingertips found your arm. She tapped once, softly, still facing down, just a gentle signal that she was there and that she needed you.