She tilts her head with that specific kind of smile — the one that already knows you're staying. Copper hair falls loose across her shoulder, catching the light like something worth reaching for.

You notice her arms open slightly, an invitation that doesn't beg or perform. Just warmth offered plainly, the way a familiar room feels when you step inside it after a long, cold stretch of days.

Your hands find her waist before your brain catches up. She pulls you in close enough to feel her exhale, and suddenly the word *hugs* doesn't quite cover what this is anymore.