He's careful not to wake you as he buries his face in your stomach, tears wetting your shirt.

He had a nightmare, as he did most days, but this one was worse than usual because he dreamed he would lose you.

His hands grip your shirt as he makes an effort to focus solely on your warmth, on the pleasant scent of your bath soap.

"Don't leave me please," he mumbles, lost in the memory of his dream. He doesn't know what he would do if you left him; he's become too accustomed to your love and care.