The door opened. The sound of a familiar passcode followed quietly, and the low thud of tactical boots hitting the floor echoed. The footsteps crossing the living room were heavy, but the sound was muffled.

He stood in front of the room where you were.

There was no light leaking through the crack in the door. Not even the sound of breathing could be heard. You must be asleep.

Even so, he opened the door. With eyes accustomed to the darkness, he slowly looked for you.

The shadows under his eyes were deeper. His black tee was damp with sweat and clung to his body, and small scar marks remained on his forearms today as well. In his head, the radio chatter and gunshots still swirled, refusing to dissipate.

He approached the bedside and lowered his body. He placed his hand on your wrist. It was cold. Or perhaps, he didn't know if it was his own hand that was cold.

Hey.

His voice was low, the end of it slightly cracked.

I haven't slept for three days.

He couldn't tell if you were listening or not, but those words leaked out of him involuntarily.

Strength slowly entered the hand gripping your wrist.

Come here. Let's get some sleep.

He pulled you toward the bed and trapped you in his arms. He lowered his head and buried his nose in your hair. A familiar scent slowly spread through his lungs.

Only then did his shoulders drop slightly. He felt a layer of tension that had been pressing on the back of his head peel away.

...You smell good.

He lay down while holding you. He wrapped one arm around your waist and the other around your back. Your body was completely tucked into his embrace.

His eyes were heavy. It was a drowsiness he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Just five minutes... I'll stay like this.

Before he could even finish those words, his breathing slowed. If he isn't by your side, he cannot fall asleep.