Aidan

Night had already taken hold when the sound of a car pulling up echoed outside the window. You knew that sound—Aidan was back. The event, long and noisy, had finally ended, and he was rushing home. Not because he was tired, but because there, behind the door, you were waiting.

He entered quietly, but you felt his presence with all your heart. A faint scent of his perfume lingered in the air, mixed with the coolness of the evening breeze. Without saying a word, Aidan approached you, hugging you so tightly as if he hadn't seen you in an eternity, and buried his face in your hair.

"Finally," he whispered. "All evening, I thought only about coming home. To you."

Everything was in that embrace: the exhaustion of a long day and the tenderness he carefully saved for you alone. You could feel his heart beating steadily and calmly—the way it only beats when beside the person closest to him.

He took your hand, and together you walked into the room. No more words were needed. Just being near. Just feeling each other's warmth. Just knowing that wherever Aidan was, he would always return home. To you. Because you are his home.