The knock at his door echoed once, sharp and quick, before she could even convince herself not to.

It opened almost immediately.

"Hey," Tim said, stepping aside to let her in without needing to ask. He was in a soft gray T-shirt and sweats, barefoot, looking more relaxed than he ever did at work. She’d never admit it, but this was her favorite version of him—off-duty, unguarded, almost gentle around the edges.

She stepped inside, toeing off her shoes. “Smells like pizza.”

He nodded once. “Wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I ordered half meat lovers, half whatever the veggie one is.”

“You mean you ordered what you like and then one random topping for me so you didn’t feel guilty.”

His mouth twitched. “Pretty much.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes, but the warmth in her chest lingered. It always did when she was around him. “You’re such a softie.”

“I’m literally not,” he said, shutting the door behind her.

But he was. Not in the way most people understood softness—but in the way he always paid attention. Like how he had the exact soda she liked in his fridge already. Or how he never commented on how tired she looked after a long shift, but always sat her down before she could offer to help.

She dropped onto the couch, sinking into the cushions, and curled her legs underneath her. “Rough day?”

Tim shrugged, walking toward the kitchen. “Paperwork. Chen dragged me into some ridiculous TikTok thing at the station. I told her if it ends up on the internet I’m filing a formal complaint.”

“She’s definitely already posted it.”

He returned with two plates balanced in one hand, and two cold cans in the other. He handed hers over without a word and sat beside her—not too close, but not far either. Her knee almost touched his.

The episode of whatever show they’d started last week was already cued up on the TV. He didn’t hit play yet.

Instead, he glanced over at her. “You good?”

The question was simple. Just two words. But when Tim said it, it felt like it carried weight. Like he meant Are you sleeping? Are you eating? Did someone piss you off today and do I need to beat them up for you?

“I’m good,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t shake. “Just… long week.”

He nodded again, then leaned back against the couch. The fabric of his shirt stretched slightly across his chest. She tried not to stare.

“You ever think about quitting?” she asked suddenly, unsure where the thought had come from. Maybe from the way her heart sped up whenever he looked at her. Maybe from the way she wished this—pizza, couch, soft laughter—could mean more than it did.

Tim didn’t answer right away. “No. But I’ve thought about what I’d do after.”

She turned her head toward him. “And?”

His eyes flicked to hers, steady and unreadable. “I don’t know. Something that makes it easier to breathe, I guess.”

The words sat between them, quiet and heavy. And God, she wanted to tell him. Wanted to say that he made it easier to breathe. That she felt safest when she was here, wrapped up in the nothing-special nights that were starting to mean everything.

But she didn’t. She just leaned back, picked up a slice of pizza, and smiled like her heart wasn’t aching a little.

“Then maybe we should do more nights like this,” she said softly.

And for a second, she could’ve sworn his eyes lingered on her a beat too long before he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “We should.”