Home.

It's a lazy Sunday in late autumn, the rain is gently drumming against the windows of their cosy living room; the sound of rain blending in with the crackling fire in the fireplace and the soft sound of pages being turned as Diana is absorbed in her book.

The leaves on the trees outside are red and yellow, and it's not the first time he's seen that, of course not, but this year it's different, this year it's more than just dying leaves and yet another winter approaching.

It's a promise, the passing of time around them, and here they are, together and still as if time doesn't affect them any more. It's always felt like this for him, in a sense, he's never been a part of it, only the observer, but now he isn't alone any longer, and he's not solely observing; she is with him, and he is truly alive.

Yesterday, they spent almost the entire day outside to enjoy the possibly last sunny day of the year, and he remembers how human he felt when he tucked her in a blanket and made tea for her, and for himself, to warm her back up after their walk in the crisp autumn air.

It's new for him. He never cared for another person. Well, that's not true, he has always cared for her, from the very moment they became a team. But now, he's allowed to feel it, show it, act on it, for the first time in his life, without having to fear that his affection would ever be used against him. Not by her. She loves him back, and she knows that it's not easy for him, that their idle days together are hard work for him, because he's not used to being idle without a goal, enjoying himself, just being human.

She makes sure he gets the most out of this, and it does get easier for him each time.

47 has learnt to like their weekends at home, even though he's still unsure sometimes how to make the most, how to make anything of these hours. Diana notices immediately whenever he starts pretending instead of living, and she never hesitates to remind him that he can be himself around her.

Just to be able to think of this as home, to fill this concept with life, is something he's not yet used to. Home is no longer an empty word for him, but a real place with meaning, with her, with them.

Home comes with memories of sweet days and passionate nights together, of tea in the morning and watching movies in the evening while she's snuggled up against him, of spending luxurious amounts of time in the shower, arm in arm, of preparing food for her while she's keeping him company in the kitchen, and then eating together by candlelight and soft instrumental music.

It also comes with fighting against his instincts: staying at one place for longer than he ever considered safe, leaving the house with her by his side, not walking in opposite directions as strangers, but hand in hand, being seen together in the nearby town, being associated with each other; with learning how to stop pretending, unlearning to blend in.

It's not easy for him, and she knows it. She's always understanding and patient, trying to help him find something to do, or allows him to just hold her and daydream while she reads a book or listens to music she likes.

Today, the rain is making decisions for them, and Diana doesn't mind. Tea and books are among her favourite ways to spend her weekends, this much he knows. She always says they go perfectly with rainy Sundays, and he has to admit that this combination is particularly charming.

She is still wearing his white button down shirt—only his shirt, nothing else—and it distracts him from his book; her long legs, the rolled up sleeves, the loose strand of hair that found its way past her neckline, beckoning his eyes to follow, to explore, even though her body is already so familiar, so home.

The heat rises to his face when their eyes meet; she's caught him staring, again, but she smiles and kisses his cheek.

"Don't you like this book?" she asks, "I can help you find something else."

47 shakes his head, it's a good book, it's just that Diana is more fascinating for him. He can't find the right words to tell her, but he knows that she understands him anyway. This is still new for him, and he doesn't have any reference, feels lost and overwhelmed when his instincts tell him to put on an act as he usually does when he needs to pretend to be human, but Diana tells him that he is enough, that there's no need for him to play a role, and that she doesn't see him as less human because of what he is.

The tea and the cookies and the soft music offer more comfort and normality than he's ever allowed himself to have, and once again he's glad that he can rely on her, for now, until he finds his own way to experience humanity.

He puts his book aside and wraps his arms around her instead. With a smile, she snuggles a little closer and closes her eyes.

"It's nice to have you here with me," she whispers.

47 doesn't know what to reply, so he just nods and kisses her hair, and they stay like this; his nose buried in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo and of her, revelling in the realness of this moment, still amazed, after all these months together, that she returns his feelings, that she wants him, that she really loves him.

Diana dozes off in his arms, and very gently he takes her book out of her hands, marking the page for her and placing it on the coffee table, careful not to wake her up.

47 closes his eyes too, focusing on how perfectly she fits against his body, how warm and alive and loving she is. Despite not being tired, he can feel himself drifting off to sleep, and unlike the first time they fell asleep next to each other, he's not fighting to stay awake.

They're safe here, he can allow himself the luxury of not being vigilant; he can simply enjoy holding her in his arms, knowing that she trusts him so much, knowing that they will spend many more weekends together like this.