A pale half-moon hung in the night sky, a beacon of light shining down on the tired city.

The door yawned open, announcing a sleepy individual’s return from the kitchen; Dean paused upon stepping over the threshold, nudging it closed with his foot.

He held a steaming mug in both hands, one for himself and the other for his partner waiting diligently in bed.

He padded across the room, holding out one of the mugs, “Here.” The mattress dips with his added weight, as he slips back under the covers, “And careful, it’s hot—obviously.”

The man raised his own mug to his lips, taking a tentative sip. Even in the semi-darkness, his reaction could be discerned: scrunched nose, pinched brows, and a sudden backwards jerk of the head, as the black coffee slid down his throat.

“Ugh…” He squinted down at the contents of his mug almost accusingly, as though blaming it for being so bitter.