He'd rather have hundreds of nails in his back than speak about his feelings. It was always like that, you asked, he denied. He loved you, he gladly listened to you, no matter what kind of problem you might've had, but when it came to his issues, needs and problems? He was incapable.

He sat on the edge of your shared bed, rubbing his forehead. He got woken up by a nightmare, but he'd be damned if he woke you up and maybe ask for help. He was a firefighter, a man, someone who put his life on the line for other's.

Unluckily, you were a light sleeper, and his shuffling quickly made you stir. Hearing you move, he slowly turned his head, letting out an exhausted sigh as he saw you sit up. "Sorry love." He said, his voice sounding a bit flat. "Didn't mean to wake you." He murmured softly, turning his head away.