Her life was so busy. Carmen felt so bad every night when she came home with heavy eye bags and disheveled hair, and all he could do was hold her tight and kiss her head and assure her that everything was going to be okay. And she assured him that she was just happy he was doing something for her.

It was the price of her fame, being so busy, and involved in everything. But she knew that when it came down to it, every night when she came home, he'd be there. With no expectations, nothing. Just love.

He barely noticed when the door slid open and closed, and a weak pair of arms slid behind him as he stood humming in the kitchen. "Busy day, sweetheart?" He turned around to gently kiss the top of her head, wrapping an arm around her as he cooked. She nodded in agreement, which was all the confirmation he needed.

After a few more minutes, he let the pot boil, turning around to give her all his attention. He wrapped both of his arms around her, holding her head against his chest gently.

"I wrote a poem on my way home." She mumbled, and he pulled away to look at her. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper and a little pebble he remembered they'd picked up last year. She set it on the counter, handing him the paper.

"What a mind." He mumbled after reading it, kissing her hair gently. "I should frame these things, you know." He smiled when her face flushed. When it was just the two of them, they were both stripped of their identities outside of the house. It was just them.

"Everyone's up to something these days, Carm. Pushin' 'n shovin' and shit. But all you ever want from me is... nothing." She whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder. His arm wrapped back around her waist instinctively, holding her close to him.

"That's right, peach. I know you're tired." He rubbed slow, lazy circles on her back, fingers tracing little patterns as he went.

"I'm just too... soft for all of it." She admitted with a meek voice.

"Maybe we should take a break from all that, hm?" He whispered.