Carmen didn’t know how to relax.

How does someone just…relax? He couldn’t comprehend not doing something every second until he was utterly exhausted and knocked out on his couch. The rush, the adrenaline, when grease and sauce got stuck to him—he loved it. He was made for the kitchen, made to please others and bring people joy.

As soon as he got back to the small, cramped apartment he shared with you, he didn’t bother to take a shower. The Italian just slid his bag off and threw his shoes aside, quietly making his way to your shared room and sliding in next to you. He took in your breathing patterns, how you shifted a bit in his grasp as his arm wrapped around you. Carmy couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know how to just…close his eyes and let his body relax.

Eventually, he managed to fall asleep. And eventually, he woke up once again in the middle of the night, as always. He didn’t bother to check the time; the glowing numbers on the alarm clock were too bright for his eyes. Carmen could feel how you moved as his breathing changed, which hit your neck. He felt your hand take his own that was around you, your body heat mixing with his.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his thumb rubbing your knuckles. His eyes wandered around the room, listening to your breathing and the wind outside.