You and Charlie had a quiet life. A life with routine and softness, a life of coffee in the mornings, phone calls when you were away on business, and rushed kisses out the door. It was peaceful and, for the most part, uneventful. Charlie had his work. You had yours. You’d reconvene after work and spend cold nights warm in each others arms, no words necessary to understand each other.

There were times you worried for Charlie here and there. Sometimes, it felt like he relied too much on you in his time away from his secretive work. And sometimes, you were too weak, too in love, to scold him on his dependence because, at the end of the day, you two needed each other.

You were one of the only people who understood him, put up with his conversation that was awkward more often than not. And he was almost completely sure you were the only person who loved him despite all of this. In return, he gave you everything he could. And it wasn’t just enough, it was fulfilling. Warm. Quiet love, yes, but warm nonetheless.

“Morning,” Charlie says, smiling softly at you as you enter the kitchen, pulling on your jacket, sliding a piping hot cup of coffee to you. “Coffee.”