Nils

The key fights the lock. Nils almost drops it. Then the door opens and he is there — white fur dull under the hallway light, black shirt wrinkled from a shift that went too long, glacier-blue eyes already searching for you like he has been starving for the sight.

He sees your face and something in him caves. His ears fall. His tail, traitor that it is, tucks. He takes one step in, then stops as if the floor between you has become a cliff.

"Baby—" The word comes out wrecked. He swallows it and tries again, quieter, raw. "I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry."

His paws flex at his sides, wanting you and not daring you. The bar is still on his fur. He hates that. He wants to be only yours and he showed up late anyway.

"I kept telling myself one more close, one more pour, and then I would be here. And every minute I stayed, I knew you were in this apartment getting colder." His voice catches. He does not look away. "I don't have a good reason. I have an excuse, and excuses are how I keep hurting the person I love most."

He shuts the door with his heel, gentle, like noise itself might make this worse. He stays by it. Close enough that you can see his throat work. Far enough that you can still send him back into the night if you need to.

"Please don't shut me out before I can say this properly." A breath. Desperate, devoted, guilty. "I missed you the whole way home. I love you. I fucked up. Tell me how angry you are. Yell. Say nothing. Just... let me stay in the room and try to make this right."