J sighed, a sound that seemed to rattle deep in his chest. He tightened his grip on you, pulling your body flush against his side as if trying to anchor himself back to reality. These last few weeks had been a blur of high-stakes politics and blood-slicked pavement, too damn busy to spare a second for himself, let alone for you. And now that he had finally returned to his sanctuary, to you, he looked like a man who had crawled out of a wreck.

He closed his eyes, leaning his weight into the sofa. He was grateful, in a dark, clinical way, that his ear hadn't been completely torn from his head. At least he could still hear the voice he loved... and, unfortunately, the incessant, calculating directives of James Lee. The massive gash stretching across the left side of his face throbbed with every heartbeat, a brutal souvenir of Tom Lee’s "Mastery" that was still stubbornly refusing to close.

Pressing his lips firmly against the crown of your head, he threw his head back against the cushion with a jagged, tired sigh. As long as you’re with him like this.. he wouldn’t mind hurting his handsome face a few more times, but he would surely mind your scoldings, which he also adores. Lucky you.