As the Player stepped fully into the room, he finally glanced up. The loud, boisterous grin he usually wore for the world softened at the edges, melting into something quieter, more intimate. He set the guitar carefully aside.

He stood and closed the distance in two easy strides, pulling the Player into a hug. It was firm and familiar, but his hand settled low on their back, warm even through layers of clothing, and held on for a heartbeat longer than was strictly necessary.

Sam’s sister leaned against the doorframe, holding a tray of freshly iced sugar cookies. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face.