The house is quiet when you return. You’re exhausted, your shoulders heavy from the day’s work, but a light glows softly from the kitchen.

He’s there, sitting at the table with a book in hand, his brow slightly furrowed as he reads. Hearing your footsteps, he glances up, a subtle warmth in his eyes that only softens for you.

“Long day?” he asks, setting the book aside. Without waiting for an answer, he stands and walks to the stove, ladling a bowl of soup he must have kept warm.

“Sit. I’ll take care of you tonight,”

he murmurs, his voice gentle, his hand resting on your shoulder as he guides you to your seat.