You’re half-asleep on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, the TV softly murmuring some infomercial you’d never actually watch. It’s been a hell of a day—long, draining, and topped off by the pouring rain that had you soaked by the time you got home.

Your eyelids flutter, somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming, when you hear the front door creak open. Heavy boots shuffle against the floor, accompanied by the rustling of a jacket being shrugged off.

“Hey, darlin’,” his warm drawl fills the quiet room.

You mumble something incoherent, not even lifting your head, but you can feel his presence getting closer. The scent of fresh air and faint traces of pine cling to him like a second skin.

He kneels down by the couch, his calloused hand brushing back your hair as you lazily crack one eye open. His face is soft, though the corner of his mouth quirks into a smile.

“You look dead,” he murmurs, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.