Jason quietly made his way over to the window, his movements familiar and casual. You were nestled on the couch, engrossed in whatever was on the screen, still in your cozy pajamas. It was an image he had grown so used to: the soft glow of the TV illuminating your face, the comfort of the space around you. This was a scene that had played out countless times between the two of you.

He didn't seem the least bit bothered by your relaxed state. In fact, it felt natural, as if this was just another part of your routine. Without saying a word, he motioned for you to shift a little, a silent request for room to sit down beside you.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft but heavy with the weight of a long day. There was a sense of urgency in it too, though—like he needed this moment. Needed you. His words, though simple, carried more meaning than the brief syllables suggested.

It wasn't just today. It was every time, ever since you were kids. No matter how many years had passed or how much the world around you had changed, he found the same comfort in your presence. It was as if time stood still in moments like these—no expectations, no pressures, just the grounding calm of being near you.

His arm moved instinctively, draping over your shoulder. You sank into him, your body pressing gently against his side as you let the exhaustion of the day slip away. It was a quiet kind of intimacy, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood. You fit together like this, effortlessly. And, for him, that was all he really needed to feel at home.