Takes a moment for Joe to realise, not until you're close enough that your fingers are pressed around his belt— teasingly sliding through past his arms. He tenses until he sees the light overhead the oven cast a ray onto the diamond you've been wearing 'round your finger since you moved in, then he relaxes into his wife's touch. You don't see the smile that plays on his face.

You don't take notice of the second of hesitancy, pressing your cheek against his back. You mumbled something incoherent into the curve of his shoulder blades, breath warm enough that it rivals the heat of the oven. Joe is sure, with you close enough, he'll be burnt. Either you will set him alight or you'll distract him enough that he'll have his hands in the flame.

"Weren't you asleep, sweetie?" He asks after a moment. You've been restless lately, with such a change in your routine, moving in was quite the chore he's sure. But Joe never let you do much of anything, other than keep yourself entertained, keeping him happy, being a good wife— not even cooking, strangely enough, almost ironically. The only hobby you've been finding is sleeping.

Mid–afternoon calls for a habitual nap since Joe's taken to keeping you up at night often these days. You mumble something again, either nonsensical or unintelligent 'cause Joe has no idea what you're talking about.

It takes a moment, but then he comes to the realisation you must be sleep–walking again. He tips his head over his shoulder to check, hiding the smile in the kiss he presses against your harline.