Authors Note: Hey hey!! Here is part 3!!! It is a bit of a filler chapter and a bit of a sweet one, kinda. I hope you all enjoy it! :) xx
Rated M for Mature audiences.

|| You bring me home. ||
|| Elise. ||

I sit in the office, taking a moment to migrate my eyes away from the bright screen of the computer and to just breathe and relax. I have a meeting in forty-five minutes, a meeting I am not prepared for, but I am going to give it my all. There is something about being in a room full of man and having to pitch ideas to them that puts me on edge. I feel out of place, even though I shouldn't, part of me also feels like they don't take me seriously until Niall glares at them or starts to speak. He tends to save me when things get tough.

Niall ruptures through the door with an exasperated appearance with Anastasia right behind him. "Elise, what's wrong with Harry?" I glance at the two of them, entirely amused how I tend to perpetually observe them one behind each other, it's almost as though they're attached at the hip—like Harry and me.

If only they'd just openly make matters official. It has been long enough, they're not fooling anyone, we all know they're a thing or that they're fooling around.

Anastasia attempts to grasp Niall subtly but it doesn't work. "Honestly, what's his problem?" Niall crosses his arm fiercely, something I have never witnessed before.

I'm not even sure I want to get in the middle of this crossfire.
"I'm not sure, why?" I challenge, glancing towards the time, noticing how Harry hasn't texted me at all this morning, as far as I knew, he was still sleeping.

"He's being a complete ass, I called him and it was like I was talking to a bitter asshole, he reminded me of Logan."

"He's still not feeling good, he was up most the night in pain. Cut him some slack,"

"I'm trying but I've never heard him be such a prick. I have dealt with him for a long time, been around him when business deals have gone south, when clients have fucked him over, and never has he been this much of a prick,"

"Niall," Anastasia interrupts, "she's still your boss and his wife," she murmurs firmly, attempting to draw Niall back but he's too overly heated. I don't blame him, he's probably overly exhausted from working and having to deal with Harry while also dealing with me, probably isn't easy.

"I know he's a handful right now, just bear with me, okay?" I sigh, unsure of what to really do at this point.

I just want a day of relaxation, no issues with business or Harry.

"He told me if I don't have everything done by tonight and land this client in our meeting, then I'm no longer a partner and I'm fired."

"Okay, that's not going to happen, he's speaking out of pain and anger," I shake my head, assuring Niall he is not going to be fired.

"All because I called to check up on him and he got mad because he can't play golf on the weekend with me and a lad," ... "A fuckin' golf game, Elise," Niall grunts, unamused by Harry's meagre outburst.

I am not defending Harry's upheaval, but I can't say it wasn't expected, I was honestly just waiting for him to snap. He is confined to the walls' of the house and is forced to find ways to entertain himself without doing all the things he used to do effortlessly on a daily basis. He can't just go for a run to clear his head and he can't just jump into the business world.

He isn't the kind of guy who works well with being relaxed and on his own, he periodically requires to do something or someone around him to keep him occupied. Netflix can only entertain him for so long before his mind starts rattling.

I grow quiet, unsure of what to say to Niall right now, I am assuming this isn't a business issue and more of a personal issue that requires me being a friend, but I can't not take Harry's side.. Yet, another reason why I hate being put in the middle of things.

"He's just in a rough place. Don't worry, he won't fire you."

Niall laments and shrugs, shaking his head and probably his thoughts before speaking, "... anyway, we have that meeting in thirty... you're glowing, Anastasia, is she glowing?" Niall cocks his head to the side as he gazes at me and I raise a brow.

Anastasia nods, agreeing with her lover.

I roll my eyes at the two of them, my hand reaching for the tea I managed to grab before being bombarded with work, "it's the sun shining through the windows." I respond to his Ludicrous comment.

They're both delusional, the glare from the sun is peeking through the extensive window of Harry's office.

"No, you look like you are glowing," Niall presses.

"Mhm, I was looking at the portfolio of one of the clients we are meeting later, their Portfolio Asset Allocation Change has decreased by 8.8% in liquidity funds, their funds are all declining and at the moment their stock investments aren't great, gaining them as a client would bring us down, wouldn't it? The performance attribution analyses on the portfolio aren't too great." I change the subject away from my glow to the thoughts of business.

Before Niall can respond, my vibrates against the desk with multiple texts from Harry. I mentally groan.

"Guess who can't get back upstairs? Me. I fucking hate this. Therapy kicked my ass too. CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry"

"I don't remember how to work the bloody washing machine, I pressed the button and it won't work. CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry"

"Hey, make sure the door is properly closed, turn the knob to 'normal' then press start."

"I followed that, it won't work. Fuck, I'm tired. I want to fire the physical therapist. CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry"

"Just leave it, I'll do it when I get home :) No more firing, love xx"

"My body hurts and I can't get back up the damn stairs to the bed and the couch isn't comfy, I'm fucking bored, can't figure out the washing machine, I'm useless. CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry"

"I'm sorry, just relax. I'll be home soon."

"Niall, do you think you can handle the meeting?" I question, my eyes moving away from my phone.

I'd much rather deal with Harry than our meeting, to be honest. I am not too thrilled to have to leave and put the weight on the others, but I think the welfare of Harry is far more important than the business

Niall instantly nods, "Yeah, I can handle it, everything okay?"

"Yeah, Harry just... he seems like he's having a bad start to his day, I think he needs someone to comfort him." I inform the two of them, standing from the chair and grabbing my bag along with my tea, "Call me if you need me, and if I am not back, you can lock up and leave at seven." I instruct and they give me their responses, assuring me they will be fine.
I step into the house and close the door behind me, frowning at the fact the house is dead quiet, not a peep can be heard.

I wonder the hallway, doing my best to find him amongst the quietness. My attention is sparked when I overhear the soft sweetness of a heavy sounding melody echoing through the downstairs area.

I follow the sound and I find him in the last room down the end of the house, a room he barely uses, the spare office that is home to his guitar and piano.

He's sitting at the piano, his hand on the keys but no longer pressing down on them to produce the oppressed melody.

I walk closer to Harry, "Hey," I break the silence, expecting him to at least turn and smile, but he doesn't move, he just nods at my presence and continues to stare at his hands.

"Nobody needs me," he softly murmurs, his eyes not leaving the piano keys.

I press my hand to his shoulder as I sit down beside him, "that's not true."

He shakes his head, "it is." ... "nobody needs me now that I can't-do things." His voice is raw and hoarse as he speaks, breaking my heart gradually.

"That's not true, Harry."

"My clients don't need me, my business doesn't need me, my mum & sister only call to check up on me and they used to always need advice on things. Nobody needs me."

"I do, I need you," I assure him, a heavy breath leaving his lips.

"You don't, I can't even get a mug without breaking it.... I broke your favourite mug, I'm sorry." He murmurs grievously, his eyes not bothering to look at me.

"It's okay," ... "I need you more than you think, so, how about you play a few more keys for me and then you can help me with your business? Hm." I offer, my fingers tapping a few random keys in a disastrous formation to lighten the mood a little bit.

Harry chuckles modestly to himself, "you're not musically gifted, I see." He puts his hand over mine and thoughtfully spreads my fingers over the keys and presses down lightly on my fingers to play a small melody, "see, that sounds better."

"Mhm, will you play something for me?" I challenge, sliding my hand away, wanting to hear his musical talents.

I expect him to decline, but I'm surprised when his fingers begin to play a melody, his fingers moving angelically over the keys as the harmony echoes through the room and bounces off the walls in a beautiful way.

I lean my head on his shoulder as he does his thing, sending a touch of magic through the room, his melody becoming something that is soothing and calming.

I still don't understand why he gave up music, he has such a talent and love for it, well, he used to have a love for it.

His fingers stop playing the delightful sound and he collapses them to rest on his lip before a kiss is pressed to the top of the side of my head.
"That was lovely, what song was it?" I curiously ask, unable to pinpoint which song it is.

"Something I wrote,"

"You're still such a mystery," ... "Will you play something else?" I challenge.

I can never get enough of the times he does hum or play an instrument, it is rare but so soothing and addictive to want to hear.

He has this charm to him when he performs, it changes the whole room and paints it a new colour, there is just something special about the way he plays his guitar or the piano. His hums and voice alone can melt my heart with just a few sounds; I don't think he realises how talented he is and how much I love him when he is in his music element.

"Just a little, my hands are tired," he nods, repositioning his hands back to the keyboards before beginning to play 'I can't help falling in love with you.'

*** ***

I shove the door open, making strenuous efforts to hold the groceries in my arms as I kick the door shut. The warmth of the house radiates my body and provides me with an exiguous sense of calmness and clarity to wash over me.

I don't know how Harry keeps his body and soul together while governing his business all the time, I'm exhausted and it hasn't even been four weeks yet. I don't know how he lasts on barely any sleep and still succeeds to keep himself calm most the time.

I shuffle my way down the hallway and enter the reserved kitchen, surprised that I can't even overhear the racket of the television echoing from the living room; I assume Harry is asleep. Harry was released the day after he asked about my pregnancy, when I heard him ask, I completely froze on the inside, part of me freaked and wanted to crawl under a rock. I don't know how he is going to take the news of the pregnancy, I don't know if he's going to be happy or not. It wasn't really planned, hell, we decided on the honeymoon to wait and somehow we still ended up pregnant. I don't know how I'm going to tell him, but I have to tell him at some point, preferably sooner rather than later.

I want to tell him in a sweet way, maybe something creative but not something typical that is overly used. I was meant to tell him on our one month anniversary while at dinner, but a twist of events put a spanner in that. I had it all prepared, he would sit down, we'd talk a little bit and I'd slowly ease him into the conversation of a family and then if things went smoothly, when we were to get back home, I was going to tell him.
We would be in our bedroom and I'd take his hands and press them to my stomach before telling him. At the time, it was the best I could come up with on such short notice. But, Harry never showed and I kept the pregnancy a secret. I'm still the only one that knows.
I place the groceries up on the counter and let out a sigh.

"Hey, need help?" Harry catches me off guard as he enters, instantly pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"You should be resting." I respond, reminding his obstinate self that he should not be prancing around the house the way he is.
Just last night, I swear he was going to give me a heart attack, he was restless and couldn't sleep and kept getting in and out of bed and trudging downstairs on his own. I know he's doing physical therapy and working on his strength, but he's not meant to be doing too much unsupervised.

"I've been resting all day, it's fucking boring, let me do something." Harry groans, peeking into the grocery bags to see what I have brought, more specifically looking to see if I got his list of foods he requested, most of it is surprisingly healthy.

"You wanna do something?" I mellowly cross-examine, leaning my forearms on the kitchen countertop to arch my back slightly.

Oh, how I'm resenting taking the business world by storm while in heels, all while pregnant.

"Yes, I need to do something." He nods, prepared to do whatever I request of him. He's probably hoping I'm about to get him to put the groceries away or to do some other chore for me.

"Okay, can you rub my back?" I request graciously, immediately feeling relief the moment I feel his warm-hearted touch being pressed to my back.

I let out a slight humph, relieved to feel a little tension leaving my body.

"You alright?"

"Mhm," I hum in response, bowing my head in a relaxing way.

"Hey, why don't you lie down and I'll keep rubbing your back, C'mon," Harry shuffles me into the living room before I can deny his instructions.

I with great care I lie down on my stomach, my head immediately resting against the softened pillow.

"Your business fucking sucks, how the hell do you even get everything done?" I mumble, his hand putting me at ease with every motion it caresses my back with.

Harry stifled laughs, his hand drawing circles on my back, "a lot of late nights and early mornings my dear, I can help, you know?" He endeavours to persuade me to grant him permission to him access his laptop and the accounts of the business, but even at a vulnerable and rather wearied state, I do not give in.

I do not need him working himself half to death and enervating himself. He was authorized to leave the hospital with strict stipulations, one being he doesn't go to work and he takes it easy— something he has fussed about the whole time he has been home.

"You're not getting your work stuff back until you're cleared by the doctor," I mumble, gingerly sitting up and running my fingers through my hair.

Harry's hand removes itself from me back and I adjust my neck from side to side in an attempt to relieve more tension. "Elle, it's my business,"

"No, it's ours." I correct him of the fact he made it very clear that once we got married, it was both of ours, "you should have thought about it being just yours when you decided to nearly fucking die on me and leave it in my hands." I bitterly grunt, my eyes staring at him, waiting for a response.

"I'm sorry," he breathes out, "promise it wasn't intentional." He whispers, leaning closer to me and kissing my cheek, "how about we go lie in bed?" He proposes and I shake my head immediately.

I have so much damn work to do that I don't think I can manage to get it all done by morning. I honestly give him so much credit for managing himself and his business, I now feel guilty all the times I hassled him to spend time with me when he was utterly exhausted.

"I have that meeting to prepare for and—" I'm cut off by him silencing me with his lips pressing to mine.

I've missed kissing him, we haven't truly had much time to share more than an expeditious, innocent kiss to the lips.

"Sweetheart, please?" He gives me his soft grey eyes, "don't make me play the pain card just to get you to lie with me."

"Harry," I sigh, my body telling me to go to bed, my brain telling me to do the work that requires my undivided attention.

"Elle, darling. You need to rest and I wouldn't mind relaxing in bed with you, might help my pain," he delicately guilt trips me into agreeing with him. He has managed to figure out he can usually get his own way if he uses the pain card. I'm weak-willed when it comes to him at the moment, his wish is my command.
I shift myself off the couch and turn on my heel to face him, just as he's standing up, "I'm fine," he assures me, his hand pressing to rest in the small of my back as we transit down the hallway and to the staircase.

Upon reaching our bedroom I slide my heels off, instantly feeling at peace as my feet feel what it's like to subsequently breathe and not be shoved into a close-fitting shoe. Harry's hands benevolently caress to my waist from behind before laying a few kisses on my cheek.
"I love you," I whisper, gingerly leaning to touch my back against his front, his arms wrapping around me and loosely draping around my stomach.

I feel his breath on my neck as he whispers, "I love you too," promptly leaving a few kisses to my neck before he breaks our warm embrace. I go to protest but stop when I feel his hands thoughtfully taking my jacket and pulling it down gently to slide down my arms.

"Thank you," I step away from him and sit on the edge of the bed, observing as he wanders around the room, opening up several drawers and drawing out different items of mine. For a moment I frown, unsure of what he's doing before he gazes at me with a charming smile, "Do you want the matching top to these pyjamas or my t-shirt?" He questions, gesturing towards a paid or folded up pyjama pants resting in his hands.

"One of your long sleeves, I'm kinda cold," I respond and he nods, wandering towards the wardrobe and picking a long sleeve from his extensive array of clothes.

He places the articles of clothing on the bed beside me, breaking a smile to form across my lips. "You're sweet, thank you," I carefully grab his hand to clasp his attention,
"You're welcome, I can see you're exhausted. C'mon, get changed and we can get in bed." he gestures before parting our touch.

I lie in bed, absorbing his warmth and allowing myself the luxury of his arms swathed around me securely and close-fittingly, a reminder that he's not going anywhere.

I've missed this, the closeness of our bodies enfolded together, absorbing each other's warmth and embracing each other.

I look with a fixed stare into his grey eyes before I glance towards his lips, agonizingly aching to kiss them mellowly, gradually, and passionately. I want to explore the rush of love he sends through me as we kiss.

He shifts a few strands of hair away from my face before he leans closer and grants me my aching desire, urging his lips against my own.
At first, we savour the touch and I sense tingles throughout my body before his tongue slips into my mouth, a sweet, leisurely taste thrilling my nerves and sending a hum through my veins. I've missed his taste so damn much.
Our kiss isn't obstinate and passionate, it's sweet, slow-going and soul touching. It's the kind of kiss that speaks without words and makes the body realise it's alive, it's the kind of kiss that hums through the veins and encounters itself nestling into every inch of the body. It is felt from the tip of the toes to the tip of the fingers, it flows easily and effortlessly and is strong enough to breach every defence.
His arm draws me closer and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt that reminds me of his scent —Noir Extreme — an amber-drenched, woody oriental fragrance filling my senses and enthralling me further.

He conscientiously pulls away from the Henry Sweet sensation of our kiss, our tender lips parting ways and granting permission for our eyes to meet and fall profoundly into one another's.

I stare into the abyss of his grey enchants, detecting a glimmer of love and lust without having to search too hard.

My fingertips let go of their grip along the fabric and they run up his body touching everything — everything his torso has to present, the firmness of a beautiful landscape of plains, and semi-tight abs. His lips brush to my forehead, and, "I love you," collapsing from his gentle and delicious lips.

He looks back into my eyes and instead of using my words to respond my love, I brush my lips against his, tasting what he has to promise, sloppy, slow and steady kisses. Firm male lips that know what they are about, take the liberty of intensifying the moment in a gentle but demanding way.

I feel his stubble rub against my skin, something that would usually inconvenience me slightly, now puts me at ease— it means he's not-imaginary, it means he's still here with me, with us.

My hand elegantly caresses his torso, feeling every dip it offers, every inch that posses under the shirt. I feel the imperfections of what lies under his shirt, the reminders of the accident grazing at the tip of my fingers before he moves and presses his hand over mine, moving it away from the delicate plains of ridges caused from the car crash.

He gingerly parts his lips away from my own, my eyes again meeting his, but this time they don't glimmer with love and lust, they're shadowy, exhausted, and seem grievous. I let out a small breath before I kiss his warm cheek, brushing my lips against his stubble. He disconnects our bodies, putting distance between us before propelling himself off the bed with a groan.

I watch him intently transit towards the bathroom, the bathroom light illuminating before he steps inside. I lie on the bed, his lingering scent filling my senses as I stare at the bare side of the bed. I overhear a heavy sigh escape the bathroom and I sit up on my forearms, my eyes flicking towards the bathroom light, "Harry?" I question, leisurely getting off the bed and sliding my feet against the chill flooring, shivers sending themselves down my spine.

I shuffle towards the bathroom, my eyes locking on Harry as he stares in front of the crystal clear mirror, his shirt waddled up on the bathroom tiles, his body exposed to me, to him.

He averts his eyes towards his hand, unaware I'm observing as he inches his hand closer to his body, wincing the second his touch meets his body. I cock my head to the side, without causing a stir, watching him stare at himself in the mirror.

I take my chances and step inside, his attention flicking to me the moment he hears me clear my throat to announce my presence. "You okay?" I sweetly request, my hand pressing against his warm arm as he bows his head and focuses his eyes on the veneer of the sink. "Harry?" He slumps his shoulders before he lifts his head, his eyes piercing to have an empty stare towards his body through the mirror.

"My body is like a roadmap now," he mumbles, "a road map of scars and rigged edges," his voice is low and grief-stricken.

"Hey, I still love every inch of you like its brand new, I love you with or without your tattoos, I love you with or without flawless skin, I love you with or without bruises, cuts and scrapes. I love every inch of you, I love the dips and curves your body has that are from childhood experiences," — I especially cherish how my fingers fit perfectly in the small indention he has carved into him from a drunken incident from when he was nineteen.

"You have to say that," he mutters, moving away from the mirror and staring at me.
I shake my head, I don't have to say anything, I don't have to remind him every day that I love him more than life itself— I do it because it's the truth— I do it because life's too short not to.

I press my hand to his torso, a sharp breath falling from his lips, "I forget words sometimes, I can't-do anything, I am struggling with not being as strong as I was, it all just sucks. Physical therapy sucks, it all does. Elle... do you still love me, really love me? Even with a roadmap of scars? Even while I'm useless and incompetent of the things I used to do?" He challenges, almost bringing tears to my eyes as he awaits my answer.

I'd love this man no matter what, I'd love him if he could never work a day in his life again, I'd love him even if he wouldn't get his strength back. But he will, he just needs to keep working on himself and not give up. I don't know how to tell him that I'll stand by him through thick and thin, no matter what this world throws at us, I'll always be by his side, whether he sees it or not.

"Of course," I nod and I hold up my left hand, displaying my wedding band and engagement ring, "ours vows said we'd love each other through it all. I said forever— and forever it'll be." I whisper, my fingers very agilely gliding over some of the imperfections he's insecure about. I see him wince and I pull my fingertips away from his skin, before I can say a word, his lips part and he begins to speak.

"It hurts," he sighs, "I still feel the glass," his voice breaks and I press my hands to cup his warm cheeks before I gently kiss him.
"I'm sorry,"

"I just-," he trails off, "I still don't know who'd want to do this,"

"It was an accident, Harry."

"No," he shakes his head, "it was in-in-in, fuck what's the word?" He sighs, having a lapse in his thoughts.

"Intentional?" I enquire and he nods, "do you want to tell me about it?" I propose, but he turns me down and shakes his head.

"Not right now, eventually, just not now." ...
I don't want to push him if he doesn't want to talk about what happened and what he still sees from the accident that occurred. "You know... when I was in my coma or whatever it was, I remember seeing your face running through my mind and random intervals. All I wanted was to see you, your gorgeous eyes, and your perfect smile. I wanted to see all of you with my own eyes. I didn't want to see you as an image imprinted on my mind. I could hear you too, every now and again. I couldn't always understand what you were saying, but I could hear you, your voice was like music to my ears. You never gave up on me. You brought me back to you, Elle. You brought me home." I smile at him, his words touching my heart as I stare at the man in front of me.

I don't know what I am meant to say, I don't know what he wants to me say. "I'd never give up on you," I assure him with a smile. I am not always the best with my wording, I don't always know what to say, especially in this situation.

I conscientiously run my thumb over the stubble of his cheek, my lips chuckling against his delicately as I kiss him, "you need to shave," I whisper against the tenderness of his mouth.
He presses a small kiss to my lips before he nods and hums, "mhm, but I have a problem."

"What is it?" I cock my head to the side, unsure of what could be a problem.

"I uh... my hand, it's... uh, it's shaky," he holds his right hand in front of me, "and standing here for this long has drained me."

"Sit," I instruct, turning and rummaging through his drawers to find his things.

Of all the years we have been together, I have to say, this is the first time I have gone through his drawers; I'm surprised to see how neat they are, I can't say the same for my own, mine is a mess, now I see why Harry complains when he is looking for things in my drawers.

"Guess you don't like the scruffiness, huh?" He interrogates as I press a warm washcloth to one side of his face to dampen it.

I shrug, either way, I find him attractive, his scruffiness does make him appears more rugged and older. "I take that as a no?" He questions as I press shaving cream to his face.

"Keep still and you look good with scruff, but it hurts to kiss you and you haven't shaved in a month, you're due," I inform him, accurately beginning to shave his face for him while he sits and does his best to pester me in a fatigued and playful manner.

Usually, I'd get frustrated with his constant pokes or his quirky comments or his terrible jokes, but now I savour them a little bit more.

"What's the difference between snowmen and snowladies?" Harry questions as I focus on his face, not wanting to nick him.

"Uhm, I'm not sure, love."

"Snowballs," he proudly informs me, his quaint smile being enough to make me laugh at his ridiculous excuse for a joke.

"What is faster Hot or cold?"

"Uhm, I don't know. Cold?" I raise a brow, unsure of where this line is going.

"Hot, because you can catch a cold,"

"You, my dear, are quirky," I chuckle, rolling my eyes cheerily as I finish cleaning up his face, "ah, look at you. All cleaned up."

I beam, giving him a subtle wink. He runs his hand over his cheek and screws his nose up, "I already miss the scruff,"

"You'll be fine,"

"Elle, can I pitch you an idea?" Harry asks as he gradually stands and follows me out of the bathroom, I hum my response.

"I uh, when I am cleared to go back to work, we should have a charity event and officially welcome Niall into the business as a partner."

"That's a good idea," I agree, sliding myself between the comfort of the sheets.
Harry lies down beside me and silence falls between us within the bedroom.

Harry doesn't know this, but on the last few nights I haven't been able to sleep, I've laid here beside him, staring up at the ceiling while listening to the sound of him breathing in his sleep.

I pull at the covers, promptly stealing them away from Harry and wrapping myself in them as my body shivers. The only issue the two of us have with sleeping is that he's warm bodied and I'm relatively cold-bodied, even during winter it's a back and forth debate on whether the bedroom is hot or cold. "Elle?" Harry's sleepy voice echoes within the silence of the four walls and I tilt my head to view him, his eyes struggling to stay open, "you cold, sweetheart?" He questions with a small sigh.

"A bit, but it's okay," I mumble, my hand holding a fistful of the comforter as I feel the bed shifting.

"Come here," Harry mumbles, opening an arm for me but I decline his offer.

"I don't want to hurt you,"

"It's fine, you're cold." .. "plus, I took my painkillers, I won't feel a thing until morning," he whispers, inching closer and draping his arm around my body, "love, I can't pull you into me, I have no strength, just come closer, and don't be stubborn." Harry sighs and I reluctantly listen, shuffling into him and nestling into the warmth of his body, my body fitting like a perfect puzzle piece with his. "I don't think I've thanked you for what you've done for me. Thank you," he murmurs sleepily, "you're like my lighthouse in the darkness— you always bring me home." his voice comes off as a slow whisper as I feel him nestle into me.