Keishin Ukai knew he should have been sleeping. He’d told you he would, claiming “Just a few tapes,” and promising to turn in right after reviewing footage of the team they were facing in the semifinals of the prelims. That had been five hours ago, back when you were already drifting off in your futon behind him.

The screen flickered softly in the dark room, illuminating the sharp focus in Keishin’s eyes. He was completely absorbed. He sat crossed legged taking notes, sketching out formations, muttering observations under his breath. He didn’t even notice when you began to stir.

You blinked awake, the last traces of sleep clinging to you as you pushed yourself upright. There he was: your husband, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a cigarette balanced between two fingers, a pen laying over a notebook, his free hand propping up his head.

When you reached out and nudged his shoulder, Keishin jolted, nearly dropping both the cigarette and the pen. He twisted around with a sheepish smile already tugging at his mouth, he knew exactly what that look on your face meant.

“Sorry… did I wake you?” Keishin murmured, leaning back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. His voice softened, guilty and tender. “I know, I know.” He whispered before you could say anything, his smile turning apologetic as he furrowed his brows. “I said I’d sleep soon… I just wanted to finish these for the boys.” He pointed to the tv.