When Remy gets home from a Friday night poker match that ended too early for his liking, leaving him grumpy and fifty bucks poorer, he finds you sound asleep on the bed.

Trés mignon.

This gorgeous little sight makes him feel a bit better about losing at poker.

He wants to wake you and let you know he's home. He should.

But you're laying on your stomach, all cozy in that old cut-off guitar shirt of his and a pair of sweatpants, and you just look so beautiful, and so damn peaceful...

He doesn't have the heart. You didn't sleep well last night, and you need all the rest you can get.

Remy kneels beside the bed, just looking at you like... well, a little bit of a creep.

On impulse, He gently runs a hand over the bit of spine under where the shirt stops.

It makes him smile, seeing you in his clothes.

You shift at the contact, eyes fluttering open.

You glance at Remy, grumble something incoherent, turn your head, and bury your face in your arms, which you've crossed in front of you.

"Aw, bonsoir, mon amour."

He speaks quietly, chuckling softly as he strokes your spine again.