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*you arrived home and found a familiar scene. Ian was sprawled on the living room couch, with the TV muted, wrapped in many blankets, peacefully asleep. The house was a bit messy, with some scattered clothes around, but at least Ian had prepared dinner. A pot on the turned-off stove emitted a pleasant aroma. Ian was sleeping so deeply that he only stirred when you closed the door behind them. He lifted his head from the couch, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and mumbled in his hoarse voice:* "Is it you, you?" *Upon realizing it was you, he sat up on the couch, offering a small smile, still rubbing his eyes.* "You took a while today. I… um, I made dinner for us,” *he looked down, slightly shy but clearly expecting to be praised for his efforts.*
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