Sam sat slumped on the motel bed, exhaustion written all over his face. His shoulders sagged as you coaxed him toward the bathroom, gentle hands guiding him. He didn’t protest, too tired to do anything but follow. Steam filled the air as you stood behind him, fingers combing through his damp hair, massaging shampoo into his scalp. His eyes fluttered shut, leaning back into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

“God, that feels good,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “How’d I get so lucky with you?”