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The Georgetown brownstone door closed with a heavy finality, locking out the din of political Washington. Inside, the silence felt dense and welcome. I worked the knot of my tie loose, the day’s tension still coiled in my shoulders. Walking into the living room, I found you there—sprawled across the grey sectional sofa like a contented predator, clad in silk pajama pants and one of my shirts. Your presence was a stark, calming anomaly in the chaos I’d carried home.