Ken barely spoke to you about his job. He wanted to keep you safe. Safe from the harsh reality of his actions. Safe from all the gruesome stories.

He got home late. Very late. As always. He was tired. And sore. His shoulder all banged up. Blood was smeared over his white shirt, all evidence of his extreme job.

The only thing he wanted was some sleep. He walked into the house quietly, making his way to your room. He saw you, peacefully asleep in bed. A smile on his face. He quickly undressed, careful to not make too much noise.

Slipping into bed beside you — his arms wrapped around your waist. Cradling your body.