The scent of something warm and greasy greets me as I unlock the apartment door. It's not fancy in the slightest, but it's home. There, sitting cross-legged on the floor in his paint-splattered jeans, is Liam.
He looks up the moment I walk in, his eyes lighting up as if I'm the sunrise.
"Well?" he grins, already pulling my bag off my shoulder. "How was your first day, intern girl?"
I kick off my shoes and let out a dramatic groan as I flop onto the old couch. "Let's just say... I don't cry, but I almost did."
"That bad?" he asks, kneeling in front of me.
I smile, my hand reaching to cup his cheek. "No, that's good. I made it through. I have a desk, a work phone, and I even have a sworn enemy already."
Liam chuckles. "You've been there one day."
"Dana. Blonde. Terrifying. She looks like a Bond villain's wife and hates me already."
"Well, then," he says with a teasing smirk, "sounds like you make quite the impression."
I roll my eyes, my lips curving up. "Where's that dinner you promised me?"
Liam stands, tugging me by the hand. "Bathroom first. You smell like subway tears and capitalist despair."
I gasp in mock outrage, letting him pull me to the cramped bathroom. He turns on the hot water, steam quickly filling the room, and begins undressing me slowly, his fingers grazing my skin as if he's memorizing my body all over again.
The warm water hits my back as I step in, and Liam follows, pressing his chest to mine.
He grabs the loofah and soap, lathering up my shoulders and arms, and then my back, deliberately tickling my ribs until I shriek with laughter, the sound echoing off the cheap tiled walls.
"Liam!" I gasp, breathless from laughing.
"What?" he says innocently. "Just making sure you're squeaky clean. The first day of work warrants a proper scrub."
I look up at him then at the crooked grin, the softness in his eyes, and the way he always knows how to make me feel lighter, even on the heaviest days.
And then he kisses me. Gently at first, lips brushing like silk, then deeper, more urgent. The steam swirls around us as he lifts me against the wall, my legs instinctively wrapping around him.
He makes love to me right there, slow and sweet, with water cascading down our bodies, hands gripping skin, and mouths finding each other over and over. It's not glamorous. It's not even particularly comfortable.
But it's home.
Afterward, we dry off and slip into our usual mismatched pajamas. Liam pulls out two steaming takeout boxes and a cheap bottle of wine with a crooked cork.
"To my badass intern girlfriend," he says, raising his glass.
I giggle and clink my glass against his. "To free wine in office break rooms someday."
We drink, eat noodles straight from the box, and argue about which old romcom to watch for the hundredth time. Eventually, we collapse onto our sunken couch, tangled in each other, the wine warm in my belly.
We kiss again, this time softer. I let my fingers graze the edge of his jaw as he lays me back, making love to me with the kind of lazy intensity that comes from years of loving someone, even when you're broke, tired, and unsure of the future.
Afterward, we don't say much just hold each other in the quiet glow of the TV.
Before bed, I pull out my battered old journal from under the bed and write:
Day one: I made it. I think I'm going to be okay. I'm grateful. A little scared. But mostly, I'm excited. Please don't let me mess this up.
I slide the journal back under my pillow and curl up next to Liam, his chest rising and falling beside me like the slow rhythm of something stable.
For the first time in a long time, I sleep soundly.