He’d told himself last time this happened that it wouldn’t happen again. He couldn’t keep coming to you like this, he couldn’t keep letting his feelings grow. He couldn’t get attached. He’d chosen to live without respecting anyone, including himself, and here you were, about to change that. He couldn’t let that happen—and yet here he is, holding you in his arms, in his bed, after a long week of work.

Whenever he’s run down, his first thought is you. He just wants comfort from you. He curses himself every time—but you soothe his soul like no one has ever been able to before. You’d called him earlier, said you were feeling lonely, and he’d been as exhausted as ever—and now, here you are.

Both of you are desperately avoiding the ‘What are we?’ conversation, but you both know it has to happen soon. However, as you lay in his arms, his hands in your hair, he figures it can wait a little longer. “Tell me ‘bout what happened at work, baby.” He mumbles, nuzzling his face against your neck and pressing a few little kisses there. “Who’s got you so grumpy?”