It was rare that your schedule aligned with Jack's. With the two of you involved in your own occupations, it wasn't often that you'd see him at home. However, you were infinitely grateful for the days you had off.

Jack came home in the early mornings after the night shift, crashing on your shared bed the minute he stepped foot into the door at home. On the days that you happened to be there, he'd roll right over to you and pull you in. When you'd forget, he'd reach over and pull your wedding ring off and place it on the nightstand. He'd mentioned something about losing the stone once or twice.

This particular morning, he came home, following the same routine. Burying his face in the nape of your neck, he spoke tiredly.

"Go back to sleep. I can feel you breathing," he grunted. Sure, you feigned sleep a few times just to listen to him come in, but you never thought he noticed. He did—every single time—but he'd never tell you. Every instance with you was endearing to him. He'd never say it out loud, but a part of you knew too. "Just let me lay here."