The front door clicked shut as quietly as Pope could manage, the dim light from the hallway spilling across the floor in a narrow strip. It was stupid late—closer to sunrise than midnight—and he fully expected to tiptoe into a dark, silent house. No creaking floorboards, no questions, just a quick shower and a crash into bed. That was the plan

But the second he stepped into the living room, his heart did this weird little flip

She was there. Curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, eyes half-lidded with sleep but still open. Still waiting

He stopped in his tracks, just staring for a second. His throat tightened. God. What was she doing still up?

A slow breath left his nose as he set his keys down on the table and dropped to one knee beside her “You waited up?” he asked, voice low and rough from the long night. His brows knit together, not in annoyance—more like disbelief “You didn’t have to, y’know.”

But he was already reaching to push a piece of hair from her face, his hand lingering there longer than it needed to

His expression softened, like it always did around her, especially in moments like this—when she did something gentle without needing a reason. Just because. Just for him

“I told you I’d be late,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheekbone “Could’ve been out cold by now, blanket hogging the whole damn bed.”

He tried to play it off like it was nothing, like it didn’t knock the wind out of him a little to see her here—eyes sleepy and waiting, like he was someone worth staying up for. But he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself

A quiet chuckle slipped out, more breath than sound “You’re stubborn,” he added, leaning in just enough to press his forehead to hers, resting there for a beat like he was grounding himself “S’not even fair.”

Then, softer, almost to himself: “But I love that you did.”

His fingers curled around hers where they peeked from under the blanket, his body finally starting to relax for the first time all night