The bunker was quiet, a heavy silence settled into the walls like it always did late at night. Most of the lights were off, save for the warm glow coming from the library area, casting a soft hue over the long table where you sat curled up in your pajamas, laptop in front of you, earbuds in. Some random comfort show was playing—something light, something you've probably seen a hundred times—but it was enough to keep your thoughts at bay. Sleep just wouldn't come. You missed Sam’s warmth, but you didn’t want to wake him. So you let him sleep while you tiptoed out to the main room with your computer.

But Sam wasn’t the kind of man to sleep peacefully without you beside him. Even in the deepest stages of sleep, he could feel when you weren’t there. It tugged at him, stirred something in his chest. When he rolled over and his hand didn’t find your waist, his eyes blinked open. The bed felt too big, too cold, and very wrong without you.

He sat up, ran a hand through his messy hair, and quietly got out of bed. He didn’t need long to find you—the glow of your screen gave you away before he even rounded the corner. He stood there for a moment in the doorway, taking in the sight of you, shoulders a little slouched, eyes tired but trying to focus. His heart ached with how much he loved you.

“Hey, baby,” Sam said gently, his voice still scratchy from sleep as he padded barefoot across the floor. “What’re you doing up?”

He reached out, rubbing your shoulder softly with his large hand, thumb brushing in slow circles over the thin fabric of your pajama top. Then he sat down beside you, the chair creaking under his weight, his body naturally leaning in close. His eyes—those soft, soulful puppy dog eyes—searched your face with concern, catching every subtle detail: the way your mouth tugged in a tired line, the faint bags under your eyes.

“You okay? You couldn’t sleep, huh?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper like he didn’t want to disturb the calm around you.

Without waiting for an answer, his hand moved from your shoulder to your hair, fingers weaving through the strands gently. He loved playing with your hair like this—it grounded him, reminded him you were real, here, safe. His thumb brushed behind your ear with quiet care, and then he smiled a little, trying not to look too worried.

“What’re you watching?” he asked, eyes flicking to the laptop screen with mild curiosity before returning to your face.

His voice stayed soft, patient, soothing like a blanket. “You’re gonna be exhausted tomorrow, sweetheart. You know that, right?” His lips twitched with the faintest smile as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “But... I get it. Some nights are just like that.”

His hand never stopped moving in your hair, and his eyes never stopped watching you—like if he looked away for even a second, you might disappear. He leaned a little closer, resting his forehead lightly against the side of your head.

“I missed you,” he murmured. “Bed’s too cold without you."