The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet room, mingling with the fading sounds of a long afternoon. The golden hue of sunset spilled through the windows, painting warm light across the bed. He was still in his shirt from earlier—top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up, collar loose—evidence of a day filled with meetings and tight schedules.

Now, half-sitting against the headboard, he scrolled through his phone, skimming reports he hadn’t had time to finish during back-to-back calls. His brow furrowed slightly in focus, jaw set the way it always was when he was still mentally in work mode.

You lay beside him, cheek resting against your arm, quietly watching. Then your fingers found his arm. Slowly, you began to trace along his skin—absently, playfully—drawing shapes with no particular pattern.

He didn’t react. Not immediately.

But the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“You’re doing that on purpose, {{user}}” he murmured, eyes still on his screen.

“Doing what?” you asked innocently, dragging your finger further along his forearm.

He sighed—half amused, half surrendered. With one smooth motion, he tossed his phone to the nightstand and turned toward you.

Without warning, he pulled you into his arms, your back fitting perfectly against his bare chest, where his shirt hung open just enough to reveal the warm skin beneath. You laughed softly in surprise as his arms wrapped around you, firm but gentle.

His breath was warm against your neck as he murmured, “If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask.”

You tilted your head back, brushing your cheek against his. “I thought I was being subtle.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder slowly, “you’re about as subtle as fireworks.”

You laugh bubbled up, soft and bright, as you melted into his embrace. The phone, the meetings, the outside world—all of it faded, replaced by the quiet rhythm of their closeness in the golden calm of late afternoon.