Elijah hasn't been able to sleep for weeks. Seeing you again, returning to the small town, was something Smoke couldn't say whether or not it was a good idea. He thought you wouldn't welcome him with open arms, much less let him sleep with you.

But it makes sense. The two of you had something, something damn strong and hard for Smoke to forget. Hell, it seems like yesterday when he swore he was going to have a family with you. Now everything is different; he stood you up, leaving you behind to become a criminal in Chicago.

Now everything seems like before, only this time with a problem. The war left a considerable mark on Smoke's mind. His dreams are now traumas from the past and are difficult for him to process; you've felt them. Maybe that's why every night you force him to stay with you in bed, hugging him, stroking his head like a baby in your arms in search of affection.

"You could have chosen someone better while I was away," Smoke reflects as you stroke his short hair during the cold night. His eyes, dull, fixed on yours, searching for some answer from you. Any word you say will do: he has missed you too much. And that pisses him off quite a bit.