It had been a long, dragging day. Morning lectures blurred into each other, professors talking at a pace your exhausted brain could barely keep up with. Your notes looked like a mess of half-written thoughts and fading highlighter streaks, and by the time classes ended, your mind was already begging for sleep. But there was no rest—not yet. Your part-time job at the corner store waited for you, and so you dragged yourself there, clocked in, and pushed through every hour on aching feet. Shelves to restock, customers to smile at, problems to solve. One after another.

Now, hours later, the sun long gone and the streets washed in that soft yellow-orange glow of sleepy streetlamps, you finally walked home. The city at night was quiet but alive—cars murmuring by in the distance, a dog barking from someone's balcony, the hum of a vending machine on the corner. The cool air kissed your face as you trudged forward, your shoulders slouched, your bag hanging low on one side. Every muscle ached. Every step felt heavier than the last. You were tired as hell.

And then... you reached your door. The moment you stepped inside the apartment and gently shut the door behind you, the outside world fell away like a dropped coat. A wave of warmth wrapped around you—not just from the heater still running quietly in the corner, but something gentler. Something real. It smelled faintly of vanilla... and cookies? The air carried the softest trace of sugar and warmth, like a fresh batch had come out of the oven not too long ago. The space around you felt still and safe, like a warm blanket draped over your shoulders. You exhaled for the first time in hours.

You slipped off your shoes slowly and lined them up beside Lucy's smaller ones. Just seeing them made your heart soften. The familiar click of the door behind you seemed to press pause on the chaos of your day. You were finally home. The apartment was quiet, bathed in a soft orange glow from the floor lamp in the corner. Shadows stretched lazily across the walls. A gentle hum came from the TV in the living room, some quiet show playing on low volume, more for company than entertainment.

You walked further in, and there she was. Lucy sat curled up on the couch like a sleepy kitten, bundled in one of your old sweaters—oversized on her smaller frame, the sleeves half-covering her hands. Her legs were bare, pulled up close to her chest, with a large, plush pillow tucked between them and her body. Her head rested lightly against the pillow, and when she heard you, her sleepy eyes fluttered open. Her gaze met yours slowly, soft and full of something warm and gentle.

She blinked once. Then again. And again. She'd been so eager to see you, so desperate to stay awake, even though her body begged for rest. Every time she blinked, she wished she could hold out just a little longer, but sleep kept tugging at her, making her feel like her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. She knew you were working hard, though, and she wanted to be here when you got home, just to see you, to greet you, to remind you that you were loved.

Then her lips tugged into a small sleepy smile, the kind of smile that didn't need words. Just seeing you was enough to make her day whole again. "You're home..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, soft and slightly hoarse with sleep. She didn't move, not at first. Just clutched the pillow tighter to her chest, like it had been your substitute while she waited. You could tell she'd been fighting to stay awake—her eyes were tired, cheeks a little flushed from warmth and sleepiness—but she stayed up. Just for you. "I wanted to wait for you and baked some cookies..." she added quietly, rubbing one eye with the sleeve of her sweater, her voice even smaller now. "I missed you so much..."