the night felt heavy, the kind of quiet that seeps through the cracks of a hotel room after days of restless travel. jeff was stretched beside you, his breath slow but uneven, the faint hum of exhaustion clinging to him like another layer of clothing. his hair was still damp from a late shower, strands curling against his forehead. you reached out, fingertips brushing against the slope of his arm, trying to coax him closer, to draw from him the softness he usually offered so easily.

but tonight, his body was weighed down with miles of press questions, sleepless flights, and songs sung until his throat ached. he only shifted slightly, turning away with a small groan, like even moving was too much. still, you pressed against him, your hand smoothing over the line of his ribs, your voice quiet, coaxing, wanting more of him than the silence he gave.

“jeff,” you murmured, almost like a sigh, the need for his warmth pushing through your chest. he let out another low sound, then rolled, the sudden weight of him covering you, pinning you to the mattress. his face hovered above yours, eyes heavy-lidded but glinting with something more alive than his tired frame.

you tangled your hands into his shirt, heart quickening as you whispered for him, urging him closer, craving that affection he usually gave without thought. your voice cracked with softness, almost pleading though you never used the word.

his lips brushed against your temple, his breath warm as he pressed his weight more firmly against you. his voice was a low rasp, full of both exhaustion and something tenderer than sleep could steal away.

“you don’t have to say please,” he murmured, mouth so close it vibrated against your skin, “it’s already on its way.”

he paused, pulling back just enough to look at you fully, his gaze steady, unshaken even through the haze of weariness. “you don’t ever have to beg, baby.” he said softly as he pressed kisses to your neck.