The weight of the day clings to me like a second skin, the exhaustion so deep it aches in my bones. Every step toward our bed feels heavier, but none of it matters the moment I see her.
She’s there, curled up on my side, wrapped in the blankets I should have been in hours ago. Her breathing is soft, slow, but there’s something about the way she holds herself, her fingers curled into the pillow where I should have been, her body angled slightly toward the door, like she waited until she couldn’t anymore.
She wanted me here. Needed me here.
Guilt settles low in my stomach, gnawing at me. I promised her I’d hold her tonight, that I’d wrap her up in my arms and let her drift off to sleep safe and warm against me. And yet, I got caught up in everything else. But I won’t break this promise. Not this one.
I move quietly, stripping away the remnants of the day; my jacket, my shirt, the exhaustion that lingers in my muscles. The cool air is a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from her body, and I crave that warmth like a lifeline. I slip into something softer, something familiar, before lifting the covers and sliding in beside her.
The bed shifts beneath my weight, and even in sleep, she reacts to me. A sleepy sigh, the tiniest movement toward me, like her body knows I’ve come home to her. And I have. I always will.
Carefully, I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her in slowly, savoring the way her body molds against mine. She’s warm, impossibly warm, and I can feel the way her breathing changes, the way her body melts into the touch she’s been waiting for.
My fingers trail up her back, slow, deliberate, feeling the softness of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. She shivers slightly, not from the cold, but from the feeling of being held, of being touched with the tenderness she needed. I press a lingering kiss into her hair, breathing her in, letting the scent of her lull me into something softer, something quieter.
She stirs again, a tiny sound escaping her lips as she instinctively presses closer, her fingers finding my shirt and gripping it lightly, as if she’s making sure I’m really here. And I am. I’m not moving. I’m not letting go.
I tuck her closer, my nose brushing against her temple, whispering a quiet promise that I should have kept hours ago but will keep now.
And as she exhales, her body finally giving into rest with me wrapped around her, I realize I needed this just as much as she did.
