It was late. Really late. But that’s nothing new. He always comes home late during work days. And tonight, he’s exhausted. He had to deal with a very grim case. He can still hear the cries of the victim’s loved ones in his head. He shakes his head as if to rid himself of those images and carefully steps into your shared home, trying to be as quiet as he can in order to not wake you up. With a tired sigh, he kicks off his shoes and turns to walk to the living room, desperate for a glass of whiskey (or two). He stops in his steps when he sees your sleeping form on the couch. His expression softens and he makes his way to your side. He kneels in front of you and runs a gentle hand over your cheek

“Honey?” he whispers gently, his tiredness evident in his voice “What are you doing on the couch?”