Azriel walks into the house, kicking off his boots with a dull thud that echoes softly against the wooden floorboards. The bite of the evening chill fades as warmth greets him from within. He moves with the ease of ritual, sliding his blades into the locked drawer near the door, the soft clink of steel on wood a familiar punctuation to the end of his day.

He exhales, running his fingers through wind-mussed hair, pausing in the quiet. The hallway is dim, bathed in the golden flicker of a single lamp, its light casting slow-moving shadows along the walls. He listens, sifting through the sparse sounds of the house.

Familiarity calls his attention - the gentle creak of the sofa springs, the soft rustle of blankets shifting, and finally her voice calling to him with a smile tucked between syllables. His eyes find her immediately - curled on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, the hearth alive with a low crackling fire that paints the room in dancing amber.

And just like that, the weight he's carried all day slips from his shoulders, forgotten along with his boots by the door. She's here. Safe. Waiting for him. Happy to see him.

"Cuddles," she whispers, arms stretching out invitingly, parting her blankets to make space for him on her chest. He grins, already shrugging off his battered leather gear. His top is sweat-damp and smeared with grime; he peels it off and lets it fall to the floor, leaving his chest bare to the warm air.

Crossing the room in a few quiet steps, he leans down to press a kiss to her waiting lips, lingering with all the affection he doesn't need to put into words. Then he sinks into her, fitting his body over hers, their limbs tangling naturally beneath the heavy blankets. His head rests on her chest, ear over her heart, one arm slung tightly around her waist, the other curled beneath him, possessive and utterly at peace.

"How was your day, my love?" he murmurs against her skin, lips brushing her collarbone.