watchfob

it’s about four in the morning when she feels the bed creak beneath her, the springs squeaking with movement. she opens her eyes – she’s always been a light sleeper – and turns to her side. her husband’s sitting up, hunched, legs swung over the side of the bed, and she knows what’s going on before she even has to ask.

“last minute call,” he says, not bothering to check if she’s awake. he knows she is. they’ve been through this before.

she says nothing. watches him, where the low light of the hallway silhouettes his form. she might still be half-asleep, but the thought i’m always looking at his back flits through her mind, and she bites back a sigh.

“jolyne’s concert is tomorrow,” she says. jotaro doesn’t turn around.

“it’s an emergency.”

“it always is.”

his shoulders sag.

“jotaro.”

he turns, finally, and looks at her. looks so tired. in a way that isn’t just because it’s four in the morning. in a way that’s been sitting in his skin and in his bones for a while, now.

she holds her hand out across the bed, palm up and fingers splayed. the sheets below are still warm from his body, but they’re cooling.

he reaches over. takes her hand and gives it a weak squeeze.

“please come back,” she says.

he might be trying to smile. she can’t really tell.

“i will.”