#strahm

you stirred awake at the sound of keys jingling in the front door. ignoring the subtle ache in your neck, you lifted your head from where it had been resting on the kitchen table, a mug of coffee next to you that had long gone cold.

peter walked through the front door, closing it as quietly as the old apartment door would allow - despite his best efforts the hinges creaked and he winced. you assumed he thought you were in bed, as most people would be at this hour. it was well past midnight, the clock on the stove blurry as you squinted your eyes, still foggy with sleep.

“peter,” you spoke softly, as not to startle him, but his shoulders jumped ever so slightly as he turned towards where the sound of your voice had come from.

he visibly relaxed, his body deflating as he let out a deep sigh.

“i thought i told you not to wait up for me,” strahm ran a hand through his hair, messing up the dark brown locks that’s had started to get long.

“and i thought i told you not to work past nine tonight,” you pouted as you stood up from the dining chair. peter watched as you stretched your arms high above your head, his faded fbi training camp hoodie rising up on your bare legs. the thick socks on your feet shuffled against the tile floor as you shuffled to the sink to dump out the remains of your coffee, a brown ring staining the inside of the mug that you left discarded in sink.

“i know, i’m sorry-“

“that’s what you always say,” you interrupted, although there was a soft smile on your face.

peter’s arms wrapped around your waist as you approached him, and he rested his chin atop your head.

“and you know i always mean it.”

“i know you do,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned into his chest. the faint smell of his cologne lingered on his white dress shirt.

“come on, lets get you to bed,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead. you nodded in agreement, and let him guide you backwards towards your shared bedroom, your fingers fiddling to undo his tie, finally getting the perfect knot loosened as your feet finally hit the plush rug at the end of the bed. you slid the thin fabric off his neck and tossed it onto the dresser.

“what are you doing?” he whispered, his hands stopping your fingers as they began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

“i’m just helping,” you replied. “i’m not letting you sleep in your work clothes…. again.”

he surrendered, his hands letting go of your wrists to allow you to undress him. if he wasn’t so tired, he might have argued that he wasn’t a child, that he was more than capable of undressing himself; but he had been tired for so long - what was it, days? weeks? - he let you fawn over him, just this once.

once his shirt was off, you went to the dresser to find some pyjama pants for him as he removed his belt and dress pants. he took them from your hand, the sign that he wasn’t going to entertain the idea of you dressing him as well.

you crawled into bed, too tired to bother getting under the covers.

peter pulled them from underneath you carefully, sliding into bed next to you and pulling you close.

“did you eat dinner?” you asked, although you were pretty sure you knew the answer.

“didn’t have much of an appetite after studying some of those crime scene photos,” he replied, his face dropping as he realized he’d said too much.

“peter-“

“it’s fine, don’t worry about me.”

peter didn’t tell you much about the cases he worked on, which you were more than fine with, but news of the jigsaw case was hard to avoid. you couldn’t imagine some of the things he had seen; the stuff they did show the public was bad enough, you didn’t want to think about what they kept hidden.

“either it’s so bad that you can’t eat, or it’s nothing to worry about. it can’t be both,” you looked up at him, concern evident on your face.

“it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he clarified, but you shook your head.

“it’s my job to worry about you.”

“you deserve a promotion,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes before kissing him softly.

a familiar sadness settled in your chest, and you rested your head on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck as you buried your face against his clavicle.

“i can’t lose you, peter.”

his arms tightened around your waist, his fingers disappearing under the hem of your sweater to trace little shapes on your hip.

“shhhh,” he hushed. “you won’t i promise.”

“you can’t promise me that,” you lifted your head to look at him again. “i can’t-“

“you won’t,” he said firmly, his hand reaching up to cradle your face. “okay?”

you nodded, taking a deep breath to calm the vol feeling in your stomach.

“i love you peter,” you murmured against his lips as you kissed him.

“i love you too, baby.” his thumb brushed back and forth against your cheekbone as you lay in silence for a few moments.

“marry me,” he whispered, so quiet you thought you had misheard him.

“what?” you breathed out.

“marry me,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile as he looked at you through half lidded eyes.

“peter-“

“i have the ring - i had planned this all out differently-“ he started rambling, and if you weren’t so taken aback by the proposal you might have noticed the nervous tone in his voice as he rambled.

“yes,” you interrupted him.

“yes?” he repeated, sounding surprised.

“yes peter, i will marry you.”

a smile broke out across his face; a real smile, one you hadn’t seen much lately.

“we’re getting married,” he said, unable to stop grinning. oh how you would do anything to make that smile last forever. “let me get the ring-“

he tried to escape from your arms, but you wouldn’t let him.

“in the morning,” you protested. “don’t leave me.”

he settled back into bed, holding you tight.