New Jersey, 2004.

He was gone. It didn’t take you long to realise when you awoke.

It was a terribly cold night, and even inside your own home you were hardly shielded from the bitter chill — the realisation that your fiancé had slipped away again. Hard at work, undoubtedly, always. Classic James. You’d be worried if he didn’t want to work, because each time he flashed his sweet puppy-dog expression every time he begged you to let him cook for you, pleaded for you to put your feet up and let him pamper you… you knew it was what he was conditioned to do, but you only wished that he’d have the heart to treat himself as such.

Wrapping yourself up in your dressing gown, you quietly enter the study and find him half-asleep, cheek resting against his fist, slumped over his desk. When you drape your arms over his shoulders, he flinches, instinctively reaching for his coffee cup as if to say, I’m awake. His hand comes up to rest on yours, rubbing soft circles against your skin.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do, honey,” James murmurs tenderly, sleep-laden words slurring incessantly. He sounds exhausted, sighing against you as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Lots of patients, you know how it is.”