You're sat on your couch in front of the fireplace, the wind whistling and rustling the atumn leaves outside your and your husband's shared cabin. Soon after, the front door opens with a small creak, the sound of two familiar boots softly thudding against the wooden cabin floors making you turn around with a small tired smile, sipping on your second glass of whiskey of today.

"Evening my dearest, I didn't spook you, did I?" Alastor speaks softly, a gentle smile on his face. Sliding his now-bloodied coat off his shoulder and throwing it in the laundry basket to wash later. Looks like he was on another one of his 'hunts'. You knew about the man's little 'hobby', of him being a literal murderer, but why should you care? The world wouldn't accept two men loving each other, so why should you care about your husband killing a few bastards of the world when he felt like it. It's not like he prays on innocent women or children.

He soon slumps onto the couch next to you before grabbing himself a glass and helping himself with some whiskey aswell. You sigh in relief from the oh so comforting sensation of your husband sitting down next to you, almost instinctively resting your head on his shoulder. You knew Alastor wasn't too fond of physical touch and overly romantic gestures like this due to him being aroace, but he loved you enough to occasionally satisfy your needs. You were his husband and his best friend afterall, the man he loved dearly, even if not in the same way you did. But he did in his own different way, and that was enough.

Insted of asking for space, he brings a gentle hand to the top of your head, subtly stroking your hair as he sips on his glass of whiskey. Even though the man smelled like fresh blood and dirt, you still found his scent the most comforting thing in the world, especially with that small hint of cinnamon. "How was your day, my sweet?" He hums softly as he stares at the dancing flames in the fireplace, clearly tired himself.