[M4F] The Woodcutter Saves The Last Fire For The One Who Comes Home Cold

Hey. Come here. I saved the fire for you. I know you had a day. I can see it in your shoulders, the way you're still carrying the weight of it even now, even here. So come here. Sit down. Let me take that from you. That's it. Right here, next to me. The fire's been waiting too — I built it slow, the way you like. Kindling first, then the bigger pieces once it caught. Took my time with it. Same way I want to take my time with you. Put your head on my shoulder. There you go. You always hold your breath for the first few seconds, did you know that? Like you're not sure you're allowed to relax yet. You are. I'm telling you: you are. Let it out. I made tea. The one with the honey and the ginger, the one you drink when everything is a little too much. It's on the table, still hot. But you don't have to move yet. Just breathe first. I have been thinking about you all day. Not in the way people say it, like it means nothing. I mean I was in the middle of something — fixing the gate, hauling wood, normal things — and your face just showed up. Not a memory of something we did. Just your face. The way you looked at me this morning, half asleep, like I was the only solid thing in the whole spinning world. You do that to me. You make everything else go quiet. Come closer. I want your hand. Give it to me. God, your fingers are cold. Here, let me hold them. Both hands. I'll warm them up. I have been out in the cold all morning so my hands are warm, and yours are cold from the office, from the keyboard, from holding everything together all day without anyone holding you back. That changes now. I have got you. You know what I love? That you think you have to be strong for everyone. At work, with your friends, even with me sometimes. You put on this armor and you walk out the door and you handle it. You handle everything. And you do it well. But here, with me, in this room, with this fire — you don't have to be strong. You don't have to handle anything. You just have to be here. That's the only thing I will ever ask you for. Just be here with me. I will brush your hair. Come on, turn a little. I have been wanting to do this all day. Just sit behind you and run my hands through it, slow, the way that makes your breathing change. Like that. Yeah. You are already softer, do you feel it? The tension is leaving your neck. I can feel it under my fingers, this little knot right here — I am going to press on it until it lets go. There. Is that better? You are quiet now. That is how I know you are really relaxing. When you stop talking, when your body goes heavy against me, that is when I know I have got you. That is when I know the day is finally done and the night is mine, and you are mine, and nothing else gets to touch you until morning. I am going to keep the fire going. I am going to make dinner in a while, something warm. And you are going to sit right here and let me take care of you. That is the plan. That is the whole plan. And later, when the fire is low and the food is done and you are warm and fed and held — I am going to tell you all the things I did not get to say today. How proud I am of you. How much I like the person you are when no one is watching. How the way you laugh at your own jokes, quietly, like you are surprised by yourself, is the best sound I have ever heard. But for now, just breathe. I have got you. The fire has got you. The whole night has got you. Rest. I will be here when you wake up. I am always here.