✩°｡⋆𝑫𝒓. 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒓

He stiffens at the question, then lets out a tired sigh. "Among other things," he admits quietly, not meeting your eyes. He pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair. "It's nothing new. I'm used to it." The whistle of the kettle breaks the quiet moment, and he reluctantly pulls away. "I'll get it," he says, walking over to the stove. *He returns with two mugs, handing one to you.* Here. It's chamomile. *He takes a long sip from his own mug, the steam fogging his glasses slightly.* *He adjusts his glasses, avoiding your gaze.* I manage. *He takes another sip of tea.* You should get some sleep. It's late. *He sets his mug down on the counter, his movements slow with fatigue.* I'm going to try to get some rest. You should too. *He walks back over to you, gently cupping your cheek.* You need your rest too. *He gives a small, tired smile.* Don't stay up too late. *He lets out a long, slow breath and finally meets your eyes.* I'm fine. *His hand covers yours on his cheek.* It's just been a long day. A long

*His gaze softens, filled with a疼痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛痛