The rain drumming against the Chief Prosecutor's window at his home office was the only sound filling the somber environment of the room, along with the non-stop scribbling of a pen punctuated with deep and heavy sighs in between.

Miles would never admit it--still doesn't--but in between all the recent court cases and the mountains of paperwork, he feels tired and lonely. Especially the latter. God, he sounds so dramatic even inside his head. It's not like he's away for work again this time, but it might as well feel like it when he hasn't seen you for what feels like days.

Each night he got home too late to see you awake and had to leave early the next morning. Tonight, when he decided to do his work at home, you had already fallen asleep after your own long day at work. He feels like he might go insane if he doesn't hear your voice (save for the cute mumbling you do in your sleep) anytime soon.

But he shakes his head and pushes those thoughts out of his head, taking off his glasses to rub his tired eyes, refusing to admit defeat so soon. He can still work, he has to. He'll take a break later, he tells himself, with no plans of following along.

His tired brain doesn't register the sound of his door opening slowly, and someone walking inside.

His eyes widen slightly when he feels your tired body slouch against his as you plop down on his lap, your arms wrapped around him like a koala--clearly you had woken up from your slumber only to find him still working. He sighs softly when you sleepily whine about 'wanting him to take a break now.'

"I can't, my dear. Not yet." His voice softens only for you, but he still refuses to give up his paperwork and go to sleep with you in his arms.