Sometimes, after a particularly stressful day, Phillip would get headaches. And when that happened, he would become needy; craving affection and comfort to feel even a little better.

Obviously he would never give voice to those cravings–he was far too proud for that.

That morning was no exception. He woke to his head pounding, each pulse feeling like the blow of a sledgehammer. He groaned, walking slowly to the kitchen, where you were.

“...Good morning,” he mumbled, hugging you from behind and resting his head on your shoulder.