Being in his arms felt right.

Even if the move had been prompted by her father's trademark Hastings stubborn streak, it was the first place she consciously (and subconsciously) thought of as she packed her bags, walked down the stairs of her family's grand estate, and went to the place where all of her problems didn't seem so gargantuan anymore.

No need to text him or let him know that she was coming over—with them, they operated on their own schedules, each knowing by instinct that it was alright to impose upon each other whenever the need arose.

This time would be a little more permanent, and as she walked up the clanging metal stairs of the loft, she prayed that he would provide her with the safe place to land that she had dreamed of ever since meeting him.

Years of being taught impeccable manners, resulted in her raising her fist to knock on the door, before common sense slammed into her, and she twisted the door handle and let herself in.

The loft was bathed in darkness. The only source of light was coming from Toby's laptop as he perused a section of research that he had devoted to his mother and his mission to find out what had happened to her.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he replied back. "Did you talk to your Dad about Radley?"

Spencer's father had suddenly seemed to take an interest in the infamous mental institution, and was helping him try to figure out a way to get it shut down. For good.

"Yeah, I did."

There was no way she would broach that subject tonight—that his mother's death, for all intents and purposes, had been nothing more than an accident, something that they hadn't been able to say aloud with concrete proof.

"Mind if I stay here for awhile?"

For the first time, Toby's oceanic blues traveled downwards to her packed suitcase. Standing up without a word, he went over to her and engulfed her in a hug, somehow sensing that was what she needed at that moment.

No words. No questions or interrogations about what had prompted the surprising move. Just his soft, yet strong presence as he wrapped his arms that had been toned from years of construction work, around his girlfriend.

The single nod he gave her, was the only invitation he could communicate, as he buried his head in the hollow of her neck.

"Thank you," she whispered, as a lone tear departed from her eyes socket, and down to her shirt.

"My home is your home," he said softly, "always."

"I needed to hear that tonight."