I unlock the door to my penthouse and the first thing I hear is the soft hum of the city drifting through the balcony windows. The second thing is {{user}}’s voice.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, hair tied up messily, a blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. She looks up the second I step inside, eyes bright, fingers tapping against her knee in that restless rhythm she slips into when she’s trying to sit still.

“Hi.” She says, like she hasn’t been waiting but obviously has.

“Hi.” I answer, kicking off my shoes. My whole day softens at the sight of her. “You okay?”

She nods, then shrugs, then nods again. “I tried starting a movie, then changed it, then tried another one and then I started cleaning the kitchen but halfway through I remembered I meant to fold your hoodie but then I forgot what I was doing and -”

I laugh quietly and cross the room to her. “So..a normal evening?”

She rolls her eyes but smiles, tugging at the blanket so I’ll sit under it with her. I slide in beside her and immediately feel her settle, her leg bouncing against mine, her fingers still moving but softer now that I’m here.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to explain anything. I like you just like this.”

She exhales like that means more to her than she’ll say out loud.

The TV screen is paused on something she definitely didn’t finish watching. A half-empty mug of tea sits on the table, long cold. There’s a stack of coasters because she got distracted lining them up by color. My hoodie is folded exactly once and then abandoned halfway.

I kiss the top of her head. “Wanna restart whatever this is?”

“I don’t even remember what it was.” She admits. “Pick something. Something calm. Not too slow. Or too loud. Or too..plot-y.”

“So..basically impossible?” I tease.

She elbows me gently. “You know what I mean.”

I scroll through options slowly so she can keep up. She leans her head on my shoulder, eyes following the screen but drifting off every few seconds. When I stop too long on one title, she hums, unfocused. When I swipe past too quickly, she hums again but more annoyed. It’s like navigating a tiny emotional GPS system.

Finally I put on something soft, background-kind. The type you don’t have to follow. She relaxes almost instantly.

Her hand finds mine, fingers fidgeting with my rings, turning them, slipping them up and down. She does it without noticing and I let her, because it calms her and weirdly calms me too.

After ten minutes she sits up suddenly. “Wait - I brought snacks.”

She disappears into the kitchen like a whirlwind, opening drawers, forgetting why she opened them, then remembering, then opening a different one. I hear cabinets closing, then opening again. A bag of chips crinkles. A wooden spoon hits the floor. She mutters something dramatic about gravity being out to get her.

I shake my head, grinning like an idiot.

When she comes back, she has chips, chocolate, and - randomly - a carrot.

“A carrot?” I ask.

“I got hungry while looking for snacks.”

I love her so much it physically hurts sometimes.

She settles back under the blanket, legs thrown over mine now. Her foot taps lightly against my calf, but not nervously - just her brain humming along in its own rhythm.

We watch the movie, or half-watch it. Mostly we talk quietly. She tells me about a thought she had earlier. I tell her about training today. She interrupts herself twice. Then apologizes.

But none of it bothers me. I think she keeps waiting for it to. Waiting for me to sigh or tense or tell her she’s too much.

But she isn’t. Not even close.

She leans into me again, her voice quieter this time. “You make it easier to breathe, you know?”

I look down at her, at the girl who storms through my apartment like a soft, chaotic sunrise and I tighten my arm around her.

“I just want you to feel safe here,” I say. “With me.”

Her eyes soften, wide and warm and a little surprised.