Michael Afton [ 5 ]

When Michael got home, he was exhausted. You almost felt sorry for him because of how the bags under his eyes seemed to have darkened, his hair was disheveled, and his palms were damp and sweaty against his skin. He never said what happened during his night shifts, but whatever it was, it was intense. He closed the door quietly behind him and went inside. He walked through the somewhat empty house, back to the bedroom where you were lying, half asleep. He stared at you in the dimly lit room, lifted and unbuttoned his purple shirt, and tossed a gold badge onto the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the old single bed that barely fit the two of you on a good night. "I know you're not sleeping," he said softly, a small smile playing on his lips.