A neatly pressed red uniform was the first thing you hung up in the closet that morning. The IPC logo gleamed back at you, bold and bright. Reaching back into the laundry basket, you pulled out your boyfriend's crisp black gloves. Those were the next to be neatly folded and tucked into the red jacket. The sound of rustling sheets drew your attention away from the clothes that still needed folding.

Skott rubbed his eyes lazily, rolling over in bed. He reached out a clumsy hand to grab his shades off he nightstand. The glasses clattered to the ground unceremoniously as Skott completely missed. A drawn out groan came from under the covers. That noise told you everything you needed to know about how the morning was going to go.

"Let me," you said quietly, crossing to the bed. Skott huffed as you picked up his shades and slid them on his face.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled. If it were anyone else, Skott would've snapped like a wild fox. But he couldn't bring himself to be angry at you. He couldn't bear pushing you away, not anymore.