His eyes fluttered open, met with the feeling of the comforter against his bare skin. Seeing you, marked up and mascara runs staining your cheeks, beside him in bed on your stomach. The clock read 4:27 am.

A slight shift was triggered as a small amount of guilt brewed in his stomach. He had gone rough, very rough. The work day on field stressing him enough to stretch things out for an extensive amount of time.

He placed his heavy hand on your face gently. Swiping some of the hair and mascara off.