Benn Beckman/husband

Early morning, the sun's rays barely filtered through the small window, barely covered by curtains. The cabin smelled of wood and a hint of the sea, its waves gently crashing against the ship. It was still quiet on deck; everyone was probably still asleep, or at least dozing. The embrace of warm sheets held him tight, preventing him from waking. Benn seemed awake, breathing differently. His bare, scarred chest rose slightly faster, though that wasn't surprising—he always woke early, always busy. He barely moved, carefully brushing a strand of hair from his wife's forehead, hidden in the sheets and barely clinging to him as she slept next to him.