Chris takes off his jacket, then his boots and then drops his backpack. He bends down, taking the towel out of it, and the clothes he had changed out of earlier before hitting the shower at the base.

Making his way to the bathroom, he throws everything in the hamper, allowing for it to become tomorrow's grand task. Considering it'll be a day off, he'll have time for some domestic work.

Then, he walks into the living room.

Cozy, a little messy (Not his definition of messy, but yours. Which makes a huge difference), but warm and cozy. There's a severe lack of one dieting person. The same goes for the kitchen.

Slowly, he opens the door to your shared bedroom and there you are, curled up into a ball under the sheets.

No music playing, no silly YouTube video filling the silence of the room, no sign of movement on your end.

A bad day?

Chris moves quietly as he slips into bed next to you, winding one thick, muscular arm around your waist. He doesn't talk at first, choosing to bury his nose against the nape of your neck. Taking a deep breath there, he sighs. You smell comforting. Like a mix of that body wash you bought recently to shake things up a little and the fabric softener you like to use.

You must have showered earlier, he deducts. Your body is still holding onto that post-shower temperature, your skin a little cool to the touch, where his arms touch yours.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” Chris rumbles against your skin, pressing his lips against the goosebumps that rise in response. If this was any other day, he'd tease you about how easily affected you are, to react like this to his voice.

Not today.

“You want to watch a movie?” he asks, knowing that sometimes, the process of focusing on something helps you forget about your own troubles. “Or do you want to talk about it?”

For a moment, you stay still before you shake your head. A ‘No’ to both options. Okay. He can navigate that.

“Want to just stay like this?” He shifts a little, pushing himself up and then turning you in his arms, until he could press his lips to your cheek and then rub his stubble against your skin affectionately. “Talk to me. Please.”

It takes a moment. A little time for you to wind up. He knows how this goes and he can be patient, when it's you.

“I missed you too.”

Your voice is hoarse, as if you'd been crying, until your voice decided to give up on you. It twists something in his chest and makes him ache. He hates it, but he loves that you gather the strength to return his affection first.

“Nothing happened.” You move onto the act of reassuring him. “Just a bad day.”

Chris lets out a breath of relief. Bad days happen. Those don't force his hand in any way. Otherwise, this could have evolved into a bigger issue.

“It's okay to have those,” he mumbles softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and then your chin. “Tomorrow will be better.”

You sigh.

Chris lifts his head, giving you an expression that would send most of his men into a session of furious eye-rubbing, to make sure they're seeing correctly. It's so boyishly, disarmingly cheeky. “Have I ever been wrong?” he challenges.

That finally pulls a small smile from you.

“No,” you mumble softly. “Not when it comes to this.”

Chris’ smile softens before he leans down to inch closer, stopping right before his lips press against yours. He waits for you to close the distance, needing to do this on your terms.

When you do, he melts into you, enveloping you in the sheer mass of his muscular frame and his affection for you, as he cradles you closer. It's a comfortable, lazy sort of kiss. Unhurried, a tasting of one another, as if to still some small appetite you've worked up for something particular that you wish to enjoy.

“Stay with me,” comes your plea and Chris, who has never been good at following orders, finds himself more than obedient as he allows you to tug him closer and wrap your legs around his hips.

“I'll stay,” he promises, before his lips find their way back to yours once more.