From the flash fiction prompt "Detour"
The morning light spilled in through the window, waking Oliver. It was the first time in he didn't know how long that he woken up after the sun had risen. Of course, there was a reason for that-it had been nearly three am before they had made it back to Felicity's townhome, and later still before they had actually gone to bed. He could feel her heart beating under his hand, the soft warmth of her own hand covering his.
It had taken them entirely too long to get here. Years too long. They had been on a path to here ever since he had walked into her office and she had tilted her head at his bullshit. He had been so stubborn, so insistent on taking detour after detour away from her. But in the end, all roads had led back to her.
Her golden hair spilled over the pillow. She was facing him, peaceful in sleep. He closed his eyes and simply focused on her warmth and the warmth of the sun coming through the windows, the feeling of her heart beating its rhythm under his hand. For the life of him, he couldn't remember all the reasons they shouldn't be together, because this was too right. He felt too whole. He couldn't regret the long, painful road that had brought him here, or the detours that he had taken, because this was home. She was home.
When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him with her beautiful blue eyes, made all the more endearing by the fact she was squinting at him. She smiled. "This would be so much better if I could actually see you," she said, laughing.
Home.