†

you must be the town lumberjack!

[kennebunkdy]

𖤓 kennebunkdy | est. 2026

i like oc x canon. find all my writing and blurbs here!

[kennebunkdy]

i will indeed be messing with my layout all the time so i apologize in advance for the inconsistency

[kennebunkdy]

a headcanon of leon being from/born somewhere in the northeastern U.S./new england mostly because of how his jawline looks

[kennebunkdy]

porch light

overview. alivia stockton has seen pretty much everything. since her outbreak incident in 2001, she's been a college graduate, an army medic, and a division of security operations agent all in under ten years. however, the one thing the division gave her that her other experiences didn't was her field partner, leon s. kennedy; overly competent, exceptionally skilled, and stupidly loyal to the point that she fell for him. now, three months into dating, they finally get the chance to at least pretend they are regular civilians. what better way to do that than to take a vacation to the coast? word count. 5.3k contains. pre-re6 leon kennedy (despite the cover image, takes place in 2011), oc x canon, DSO established 10 years earlier in this au, established relationship, mostly fluff/leon and oc failing at being domestic, leon being so reassuring and sweet i could cry, healthy amount of angst, mentions of trauma, death, and surgical scars

author's note. debut post, kind of nervous. sorry if leon seems ooc as i am still trying to grasp how to write him. otherwise, hope you enjoy this summer read inspired by steph bohrer's maine vlog and noah kahan's new album!

Alivia realized she should have trusted him the entire time.

Not because he wasn’t capable—it was never that—more about the fact that he got every little detail spot-on to what she must have sleepily murmured to him one random night when they were only two weeks into dating.

Something about puffins, she vaguely remembers mentioning. Maybe a cabin? She genuinely can’t pinpoint what she could have said in those two minutes before falling asleep that gave him a clear picture. 

Either way, here she was, three months later, physically and mentally exhausted from paperwork and meetings in the Oval Office and rotting laboratories and a million other things that come from being an overworked Division agent. 

But, at least she was standing in front of this light teal shingled cottage. 

It was one of about fifteen or sixteen that formed a community. A path was laid with sun-bleached gravel that crunched beneath her sneakers as she walked towards the rental: flat stones served as a guide for each one, shaded just so by surrounding trees and shrubs, creating sea-glass-like patterns along the grass. 

A hand moved to sit loosely on her hip, taking in the structure: black French door to match the darker roof tiles, window boxes holding magenta petunias that her mom would have absolutely obsessed over to her father. Two white rocking chairs sat side by side on the tiny porch just outside the entryway, and she could definitely picture Leon voicing complaints about how low to the ground they were while getting into one of them (landing on your back during missions makes your body cash checks faster) while she giggled quietly. 

It was perfect. She absolutely hates him for it, too. 

“You gonna keep standing there and cheesing, or go grab your bag?” 

She quickly turned her head to see him walking up, duffel bag straps in hand. He looked…right, in this place. Sunglasses pushed up into his hair, white t-shirt rumpled from sitting in the driver’s seat for hours, jeans just baggy enough that they didn’t sit wrong. It was annoying, really, how he looked so handsome even after spending eight hours on the road. But if there was one thing Alivia has learned over the past seven years (and 4 months into their relationship, she adds), it’s that Leon S. Kennedy looks good no matter the circumstance. Even while bleeding out somewhere in Europe. Especially in some cliché domestic setting like Kennebunkport, Maine. 

“I thought you–” She had started before a smirk curved his lips, eyes narrowing at her while holding up her own bag, which was in his other hand. “Asshole.” She finished dryly. 

He made a faint hum as he stepped in front of her. “Thought you were gonna be nicer to me,” He then murmured while leaning in closer, pressing his lips gently to hers before pulling away just enough. “Considering we’re in your version of paradise.” 

She let out a small, disbelieving laugh, more fond than argumentative. “Didn’t you book this entire thing?” She spoke as she watched him walk up the small steps and start opening the screen door with his shoulder. 

“Not the point,” He called back with a smile before fully going into the cottage. That was enough of a cue to have her follow him inside, taking one brief look at the surrounding pathway and small houses past theirs before doing so.

The cottage was the most Maine-looking thing she had ever stepped into, Alivia thinks. There wasn’t a lot of space: one corner housed a small ivory loveseat littered in navy accents, the tiniest birch coffee table she’d ever seen, and a bentwood chair sat to the side of it with matching cushions to the couch. While windows took up most of the wall space, there was still room for accents like a cathedral-style mirror and an odd-looking mounted fish just above the tiny stove in the kitchenette. The bed was big enough– white comforter, fluffy dark blue shams, warm lamps on each of the nightstands. Storybook, one could say.

She carefully placed her tote bag down on one of the barstools at the short counter, stepping closer towards the tan Welsh dresser. Decorative starfish, unique mugs. She picked up one of the sand dollars on the bottom shelf when Leon walked back towards her.

“You okay?” He said with an exhale while picking his sunglasses up and off his head, brushing his hair back with his free hand, and hooking them onto the collar of his tee. She nodded in response while rotating the shell in between her fingers, a soft smile on her lips. 

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft while she reached to put the decoration back, then looked at him. “Just…still trying to convince myself this isn’t a dream.” 

His eyebrows twitched in that understanding, sheepish way she’d only gotten to know recently. “Me too,” his lips curved just enough to tell her it was honest. It only made her step closer to him, settle her arms around his neck so she could pull him towards her. 

“Thank you,” She murmured as her mouth got closer to his cheek, pressing a kiss there, then a longer one closer to his mouth. 

His hands found her waist immediately, not possessive, just grounding. “Don’t thank me yet, haven’t even been here a full day,” He responded dryly, which made her grin against his stubble. 

“Still,” She chimed, pulling back to look at him. “Big deal. Us. Doing something this civilized.” 

His eyes softened as he looked at her (some argue that he’s just gone, but the jury’s still out on that one). “Yeah,” He replied under his breath. “About time, though.” 

And he was right. After so many years of being in each other’s orbit, the borders of colleagues blurred as they became close friends. So many nights were spent after long missions in her living room, takeout between them, the TV on a random channel for background noise. There were too many days that Leon crashed on her couch because he didn’t have the strength to leave her apartment, the only place he’s known in years to actually feel like a home and not some bare-bones cave like his own. Especially after the Virginia incident last year—Alivia left hospitalized for ten days after being impaled by a huge piece of rebar— there was no way Leon was going to leave the one person who was fluent in his silence. 

They suffer enough on a day-to-day basis. If the world wasn’t going to bring them peace, they’d make their own. 

The corner of her lips twitched, barely a smile, before she spoke again. “Okay, Mr. Kennedy. Should we take a look at that map we got?” 

He let out another small hum as he brought his mouth to her forehead for a kiss, then stepped back to say, “Yes, ma’am,” his tone gentle. 

Untangling arms from one another, they both walked towards the barstools near the counter. Alivia quickly dug into her bag for the folded map of the town that the compound owner had given them when they arrived. She opened it and set it flat on the surface, along with a different sheet of paper and a bright-colored brochure. 

“What is this, a treasure hunt?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he watched her fumble with the papers.

“Hilarious. You should go on tour,” She muttered sarcastically, which made him huff out a laugh. “Okay, we’re here.” She put her index finger on the map, right next to the label for the cottages they were staying in. “Town’s up this way.” She then dragged her finger upwards near the bold KENNEBUNKPORT lettering. “Was thinking today we can do that drive on Ocean Avenue, as the woman talked about, the one with the nice views of the coast? And then we can come back, take a walk to get dinner.” 

He reached over and took the plain white paper from the counter, reading through the list of restaurants printed on it. “Sounds like a plan. What’re you in the mood for?” He asked without looking up. 

She gave him a knowing glance, elbows now against the surface as she leaned a little forward. “Not sure.” She took a moment to zone in on the titles of some of the places located in the town, landing on one that was within walking distance, as she had mentioned before. “Is there a place called Allisson’s on that sheet?” 

He turned it quickly to face her, finger next to the top bullet point. “Yeah. Sorted by letter, but it says these are all recommendations, so…” He half shrugged. 

“Wanna do that? Calm walk, no pressure, save lobster rolls for tomorrow?” 

“Seems like a fair compromise,” He agreed a little too easily. 

Alivia squinted at him, a bit skeptical. “You know, this is your trip too. I’d love some input.” 

“My input is, I’m happy doing anything you want to do,” He smiled at her while leaning towards her. “Seriously, Liv. I don’t have any preference.” 

She hummed, her eyes going down his figure before coming back up to meet his baby blues. “Suspicious.”

“Babe.” Voice flat. 

“What?” 

“I know nothing about what’s here. I trust your judgment.” 

“But–”

“–But,” He spoke before she could get any further, “You read more than I did about the area before we got here. C’mon, it’s like you’re playing tour guide.” 

She tried to keep a stance going, but knowing he was (somewhat) right, she sighed. “You’ll tell me if something’s too much?” 

“Mhm.”

“Or if I start getting too excited about–”

“Baby, you should be excited.” His laugh was tiny but there. “I’d be concerned if we got all this uninterrupted time off and you weren’t having a good time, alright? No stress.” Which, hearing him say that was more ironic than comforting. 

“All we do is stress,” She countered with a subtle smirk. “You think that’s gonna change ‘cause we’re eight hours away from the problem?” 

That made him laugh, barely. “No, but we’ll try our best.” He reached over the counter to grab the Mach keys. They had debated for a week about whether or not to take Alivia’s car– mostly because Leon was worried it’d have some mechanical problem (Her car is eight years old, not fifty), but it always handled her trips to her hometown fine. Mileage was low on it regardless, since they weren’t home in D.C. often enough to do daily commutes.

 “You wanna drive or should I?” He spun the keyring on his finger. Her look when he finally glanced up was telling enough. “...Right. Sorry, dumb question.” He half-chuckled. She folded up the map once again and tucked it under her arm, Leon backing up from the counter so she could step towards her tote. 

“You know, Graham’s property is on one of the stretches of road,” Alivia started while grabbing her own sunglasses out of the bag, pushing them up onto her head. 

“Mm.” Leon hummed, listening.

“It’s the start of summer. Ashley could be visiting her family.” She looked over at him, hoping he’d possibly act on the idea. 

Alivia was only finishing her training in the Division when Leon was sent to Spain to rescue President Graham’s daughter, who was abducted by a religious cult. She remembers reading the mission file, how Leon didn’t sleep for over 48 hours, the monitoring they put him under after finding out he was infected with that Umbrella-engineered plaga. 

Alivia was partnered with him shortly after that mission. He was anything but thrilled. She convinced herself it was because of the toll Spain took on him to feel better about how standoffish he was for the next year afterward. You know, as one usually does to survive in an already-failing hierarchy. 

It doesn’t matter now, however. They grew. They changed. They loved each other so fiercely that it was scary at times, especially when neither of them had the words to say it. 

He silently handed her the car keys before responding. “Let’s just keep to ourselves for a little while, okay?”

She nodded in response, fingers wrapping around the fob. She understood; she didn’t want to think about anything related to work either. 

The drive down Ocean Avenue was almost otherworldly; almost, because it was still partly cloudy well into the afternoon, but pretty nonetheless. 

The cottages were just off a longer road that eventually led down towards the water, and with a gear switch, they had gently cruised around thirty miles an hour, maybe less. Families riding bicycles down brick paths alongside the paved street. Boats were docked everywhere within the water’s reach, a large lobster sign on the side of one of the boathouses they passed. Getting closer to the open coastline, tons of cars were parked on the side of the road, people slamming doors to get out for good pictures. 

Leon, banished to the passenger seat, lowered his window as he looked on. The smell of salt water carried through the breeze and mixed with the scent of Alivia’s air freshener.  He didn’t consider himself a beach guy, but the aspect of it calmed his nerves instantly. 

He turned his head from his window to look instead towards the driver’s side, watching all of the large houses go by as they went on. 

Alivia kept her hand loosely on the wheel, the other dropping to the gearshift whenever a longer stretch of road came up. 

Another house, this one with large arched windows and white trim, stood calm against the weathered grey shingles. 

“This whole road’s out of our tax bracket.” She joked as she glanced out her own window. He let out a small hum in reply, nodding his head towards her side. “That house has more windows than headquarters.” 

That’s when she glanced back at him, a small smirk curving her lips. “None of these houses has Hunnigan in them, though.” A huff of breath left his nose at the comment. 

“Strong selling point,” He murmured before looking back at the water hitting against the rocks.

A little more road, a little more wind, way too many things to look at, before there was finally an empty section along the pavement. Alivia took the opportunity to flick the turn signal, pulling into the shoulder slowly before tugging the gear into park. 

“We gettin’ out?” Leon was already unbuckling his seatbelt. 

“Empty bench over there,” She replied, and there was; a singular bench sat in the bed of grass before the rocks got steep and blended into the water. “Wanna go sit?” 

“You askin’ me or tellin’ me?” 

“Both.” 

“Then yeah.” 

She couldn’t stop the smile growing on her face as she got out of the car. 

The car chimed faintly once the doors closed from Alivia hitting the lock button, and she stood straight to pull the hem of her shorts down. She looked great in them—clung to every curve like a second skin—but the moment she’d sit down, they’d always be a problem. She walked in front of the car towards his side while fixing her crooked sweatshirt.

Leon was already giving her a once-over as she pursued him. “You need help over there?” 

She scoffed, giving him a Look. He only shrugged with a smirk in response. “Hey, just makin’ sure,” He spoke before turning towards the grass, walking in front of her towards the bench.

The view was perfect, like everything else in this town, and neither of them really knew what to do with that. From where they were seated, wild grass grew out along the sides, and rocks jutted out below towards the ocean, which disappeared into the mist somewhere in the distance. 

The two were barely inches apart from one another as Alivia looked out towards the waves that took over the boulders slowly, quietly, folding softly as if they had nowhere to be. They didn’t speak for a few minutes, taking in the subtle breeze and the sound of the sea, still in disbelief that they were even there in the first place. 

Because really, it was funny, Alivia thought. Sure, she was able to get a couple of days here and there to surprise her family in Warwick, but it was always a last-minute decision since off days were never guaranteed to stick. Field agent stuff. The only vacation she remembers taking is whenever she was benched for injuries, and those days all blended into one another due to the pain medication. 

She pretends she doesn’t mind it—the time-consuming work—but sometimes the reality eats away at her. Planes, gunfire, new viruses, intense and sick-looking bio-organic weapons she couldn’t even fathom having to explain to her 21-year-old self. There was no gentle way to tell that girl that her life would be flipped upside down moments before she got to walk the stage at her college graduation. That there would be pitches of screams she doesn’t hear outside of football games throughout that arena. That her parents’ graves existed; caskets, however, were empty, because infection makes you unrecognizable to the point that you can no longer be identified as human. 

She thought she had grieved enough over the six months before her enlistment, but sometimes it catches her off guard, even ten years later. A stranger wearing a perfume like her mother’s in Georgetown. An old Ford driving down the street past her apartment like the one her dad kept in the garage. A pattern at the consignment shop that matched one of her mom’s tops. The way that sometimes, while in bed, Leon’s hand comes up into her hair when holding her to his chest, not being able to distinguish between him and her father’s grasp from when she was five and crying from a nightmare. 

He used to try to compare their scar sizes, too. Not physically, just the weight of their trauma, as if he wanted to be number one on the list: the only one to really understand the circumstances. Leon never spoke about it, but she could always tell, especially when they started working together. The guilty conscience never goes away; it instead envelops whatever good may enter your life next, convincing you that you don’t deserve it. He fought it, however; they wouldn’t have ended up here if he hadn’t, would they? 

A brush of his fingertips against her forearm brought her back from the dark pit of her mind. 

She glanced over at him, eyes not matching the smile she gave, before she looked back towards the waves for safety. 

“I didn’t know if I’d be good at this.” Her voice was small as she messed with her fingers, palms still loosely clasped. 

He turned his head. “At sitting on a bench?”

And while she laughed, she shook her head. “...At this. Being somewhere pretty and not waiting for something bad to happen.” 

They let that sit for a moment. But then, he answered, honestly. “Yeah.”

That makes her own head turn, watching him look down towards the rocks. 

He goes, “First ten minutes we got here, I kept thinkin’ I forgot something.” 

“Did you?”

“No. Just not used to leaving the work behind.”

That lands hard. Mostly because he’s right: you don’t just get to survive the mission, sit through the debrief, and leave the job at headquarters; it follows you– hell, leads you to places you will never consider an escape. 

Her weight gives, letting her shoulder lean against his, just enough contact to tell his body that she’s there. 

The next thing to come out of her mouth is, “Forgot how to have a nice day without earning it first.” 

Which only makes him wrap his arm around her, tucking her into his side, and place an affirming kiss at the top of her hair, murmuring, low, “You earned this years ago.” 

Her hand squeezes his side. “You did too.” 

And they let the hurt bleed into the wind. 

The drive back to the cottages was smooth. One moment they’re parking on the gravel and the next they’re walking down a street in the neighborhood surrounding them with the promise of a nice dinner. The restaurant was comfy: similar to any other pub you’d find up north. The waitress tried to convince Leon to try the chowder, but he said he would do so another time. 

They spent their meal stealing bites off each other’s plates and having random conversations about trips to the Jersey Shore that Alivia used to go on as a kid, whether or not they could picture getting married up here (probably expensive), and if Simone (Alivia’s friend) was keeping her new plant alive. Leon asked why she even bought it in the first place. Alivia argued that she was capable of watering it. Leon didn’t bother to bring up the last three plants she had said the same thing about before they went beyond wilting. 

They bickered like they’d known each other for twenty years over the bill, only for Leon to get his card out first. She pretended to be annoyed at the gesture.

They held hands the entire walk back. 

As soon as Alivia pulled back the comforter and climbed into the bed, she knew she was going to fall asleep quickly.

The cottage was only half-lit from the lamps on the side tables, painting the walls and ceiling with warmth that made the room feel more cozy. The sheets were soft, pillows just puffy enough under her head, shams tossed towards the foot of it if they hadn’t already fallen to the floor. She shifted onto her side, arm bent in front of her as she watched Leon, who was standing, digging through his duffel for pajamas. He pulled the pants out from underneath the rest of the clothes he had packed, stuffing the bunch down so nothing would spill before turning back.

“How’s the bed?” He asked as he placed his clothes down on his side, starting to unbutton his jeans. 

“Cold,” she responded, her voice a little sleepy. His hands paused at his zipper for a moment as a small smile appeared on his face, just in awe. 

He shucked his jeans off the rest of the way, tossing them towards his bag before taking a step towards the small bathroom. “Shower will take two seconds, I’ll be right there,” he held up two fingers before gently closing the door behind him. 

Once she heard the latch click, she slowly rolled from her side onto her back, staring at the cream colored ceiling. One of the books she brought sat on the nightstand, but she didn’t bother to reach for it. 

As she heard the shower turn on, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander: this was nice.

Way too nice. They had only been on the coast for around seven hours, and she could already feel herself getting used to it. But she can’t, not really. It’ll be her, their own little bubble for five days before it pops, their work cells ringing again, asking for files and departure times and whether or not they got all of the briefing notes.

The comforter shuffled as she bent her knee under it, her eyes half-lidded while she continued to stare upward. She should probably get up; her buttoned-up pajama top was twisted against her back, she hadn’t taken Advil yet for the ache in her back, and she really needed a hair tie from her bag. But her body wouldn’t move.

The mistake all civilians make (and her friends, despite her not blaming them) is assuming that she and Leon function fine once they’re out of the atmosphere. It always makes her laugh, because yeah, on the surface, it’s like nothing happened; no outbreak, no death, no army, no scout from the D.S.O.; just Alivia Stockton, who dreamed of having a third-grade classroom covered in crayon art. Just Leon Kennedy, who was stoked to become a police officer and help people because he chose to do so. 

But drowning never happens on the surface. 

“Hey.” 

She slowly turned her head. 

He was standing in the bathroom doorway, bare chest and boxers, toweling his hair somewhat dry. His expression shows that he knows he interrupted some deep thought process she was just having.

“Y’okay?” He then says as he reaches to put the towel back on the bathroom rack, then walks back towards the bed. She nods as he puts one knee up, then the other, climbing in sideways across the bed and halfway over her comforter-covered thighs, propping himself up by his elbow. 

She settled more into the pillows as his free hand slowly came up, landing on the hem of her top. She could hear the deep exhale leave his nose as his gaze drifted towards the fabric, but it wasn’t necessarily the shirt itself that he was focused on.

His fingertips then flattened on the right side of her lower stomach. 

“Lemme see my girl,” He murmurs it so quietly she’s not sure it’s real for the first few moments afterward.

That’s when she knows. With a little smile on her face, her hand starts to tug the fabric up a bit for him. He moves it the rest of the way with his own.

His eyes drop to the revealed skin.

Her scar was faded now, the angry red of last year long gone, softened into something pale and lived-in and hers instead of fresh and horrific. Jagged a little at the edges from how they had to lengthen it more from the damage, and a smaller line just above it from the JP drain they had to put in. 

He remembers having to hold that together to keep her from losing blood and shouting through comms for evac. Remembers how he had a ruptured eardrum and was bleeding from the back of his head after the blast, but he still got up and ran to her. Nothing could make him forget the day or two after her surgery, how she was so high on morphine but still not comfortable, him having to tell her every time she woke up that she had taken a hit because her brain couldn’t grasp anything for more than five minutes. 

The only evidence of that now blends perfectly with the rest of the skin of her abdomen. 

Alivia watched his face more than his hands. He went quiet as he looked at the pale line, just in that Leon way; that tiny stillness that said some part of him had stepped back into a room he never entirely left, even all these months later. His jaw was slightly set. His gaze moved slowly along the length of it, careful, as if he was reading proof. Like he was making sure the story ended here, in a clean bed in coastal Maine, and not where it had almost ended that day in 2010. 

Her fingers found his hair without thinking, slipping into the damp strands near his temple. He glanced up at the touch, just briefly, before looking back down. His hand rested lightly against her side, warm and broad and impossibly gentle, and he bowed his head, just enough, to press one kiss to the scar. Lips soft, before he presses another one, slower. The kind of kiss that wasn’t really a kiss so much as a prayer, which is quite ironic for a man who is not religious— dragged quietly against the area.

Alivia’s throat tightened. Mostly because she knows what those kisses mean. Knows they aren’t about the scar itself: they’re about the memory underneath; the blood, the dirt, the waiting. The beep of a heart monitor. The way he looked at her months afterward, like some part of him was still counting her breaths when she wasn’t paying attention. 

When he finally lifted his head, she was still carding her fingers slowly through his hair. 

“Looks good,” he breathed. His voice was low, steady, but she heard the deeper thing inside of it anyway; you’re here, warm to the touch, and I didn’t lose you. 

She looked down at him, eyes soft from the light in the room and his presence. “Yeah?” she whispered.

“Mhm.” He nodded once. Then, because he has no self-control, he bends and kisses it again, as if he’s saying goodnight. That one nearly undoes her.

“You always do that.” A smile was already curving her lips as she said it, and a tiny flicker moved through his mouth afterward. Not quite a smile or smirk. 

“Know.” He says.

“Makes you feel better?” She meant for it to be a joke, but it didn’t land that way. Never does in this context.

He paused just long enough that the truth seeped into his response. “Little.” 

And there it was, small and plain and more devastating than if he’d poured his whole heart out to her in one go. Yes, it still sat in him. Yes, some piece of him still reached back there. Yes, seeing her healed and alive under his hands eased something he couldn’t quite put words to. 

“Then you can look as long as you need," she breathed out.

Their eyes meet for a moment. Maybe two. He then slowly climbs up to her, gently straightening his legs beside hers, before leaning in to kiss her mouth. A little sleepy, not hungry. Just tender, as if he didn’t trust himself with anything bigger. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed once along the side of her shirt before smoothing it down over her scar again, covering it carefully, like he was tucking it in. 

“Pretty,” He murmurs against her mouth, which only makes her grin.

“I get that a lot,” is the safest response she has, and it makes him laugh against her lips, kissing her again, somehow softer than the first one. Alivia hummed into it immediately, quiet and helpless and sweet, and Leon felt the sound all the way down in his chest. His hand stayed cradling her cheek without thinking, thumb gliding back and forth against the softness of her jaw as his mouth parted just enough to deepen the kiss without breaking the innocence. 

After a few more moments, they pulled back slightly, but not before he pressed one more kiss to the corner of her lips, lingering for a second before she reached.

He folds her into him immediately, one arm under her, one arm around her—gathering her to his chest, her forehead pressed to his collarbone. She went loose almost instantly; no resistance, zero teasing, just that tired little melt she only ever gives him when she’s too tired to be her usual, sophisticated self. One of her hands is laid on his ribs while her leg slides over his under the blankets.

“There she is,” he says as he pulls the comforter higher over her shoulder, smoothing it down once before his hand returns to her back, rubbing in slow passes. Between her shoulders, down to the curve of her waist, then back again, like a mantra. It’s the kind of touch that doesn’t ask anything of her except to stay still and let him take care of everything else. 

She makes the tiniest hum, obviously pleased, and nuzzles closer. 

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers into her hair once he lowers his head towards hers. “I’ll hold you.” 

He tucks her in a tad tighter under his chin, one hand slipping into her hair at the back of her head while the other keeps the rhythm on her back. And little by little, she started to give up against him; her shoulders relaxing, fingers unclenching, body just warm and heavy where it's resting against his. 

The last thing he thinks about before everything else fades is how his pajamas are still at the foot of the bed.

But when he stirred awake an hour later, he just turned the lamp off and snuggled back up to the thing he loves most.