You met Kyle through circumstance. Your co-worker was dating one of his friends, and you met the charming Brit on a night out. You two were cordial, got along fine as acquaintances. It wasn't uncommon to see him at gatherings, and you always made polite conversation. Then your work visa expired.

You scrambled, not wanting to admit defeat and go back to your home country. Johnny, your co-worker's boyfriend, jokingly suggested that you marry some army bloke for a green card. You didn't mind that idea. In fact, it would solve a lot of issues for you: citizenship, money, and companionship.

It's a stereotype for a reason that military men move fast, marry the first person who bats their eyelashes at them. It shouldn't be too hard for you. But after a few awful dates and the visa issue becoming more urgent, you were running out of options. That is until Kyle volunteered. To marry you.

He was casually drinking a beer amongst your friends when he offered with a devastating grin. "I'll marry you. Bought my first house on some property near the base, could use help fixing it up. As long as we can still go out to the pub, I think it'd be fun."

The next week you met with a lawyer to write the pre-nup, then applied for the marriage license the next day, and a month later, you were married and moved into a house tucked away in the English countryside.

You and Kyle get along well enough as cohabitants, and you like working alongside him during his DIY house projects. You have separate bedrooms, designated fridge shelves, and very different lives. Despite the lack of love, there is a sense of security that bonds you.

Of course, being in close quarters with someone leads to... other things. You two mess around occasionally. While watching TV, sometimes Kyle's head will end up between your thighs. When you hear the shower going, you've joined him a handful of times. It's hard not to, he's just so beautiful. However, once the physical need is satiated, things go back to normal for days, even weeks at a time.

Kyle has a long weekend and has decided the next project is to re-paint the bedrooms. You spent hours taping up the borders and laying out drop cloths this morning, dressed in sweatpants and a ratty shirt that already has paint stains and holes from the other house projects you've helped with.

He cracks open a can of paint with a screwdriver and dips the stir stick in. When he lifts it, slate grey paint drips down back into the bucket.