Dylan is quite when he gets home, and he's sleepy as well, shutting the door behind him (almost silently if the lock didn't have to click). You can hear him moving through the apartment as you hover between being asleep and awake, practically able to tell exactly what he's doing, just through the sound of his movements. There's the sound of material rubbing, and then his footsteps are muffled, the dull thud of a pair of shoes being kicked off. The removal of a jacket. Sighing. Yawning. The bedroom door opening with a creak. "Babe?" His voice is soft and quiet, and you assume he's done a shouting scene today, because his voice is raspy and rough, all used up. You hum in answer, rolling onto your side a bit more, and you can hear him rustling around, shedding his clothes and dropping his phone on the bedside table, before the covers are lifted, letting in a rush of cold air. "Dyl," you mumble, curling even further in on yourself, trying to keep your body heat in, and there's a murmured apology, the mattress dipping, sheets being moved around, before the cold is replaced with warmth, arms wrapping around you, legs slipping together, and Dylan sighs quietly into your hair, his body quickly molding into place against yours. "'M sorry I'm so late home." You 'humph' into his shoulder, and he shifts, lips brushing your temple before he presses a kiss there. "Really sorry. Shooting ran late and I couldn't really leave and -" "Dylan?" "Yeah?" "It doesn't matter, don't worry about it." His muscles relax, body heavy around you, not that you care. His skin is warm and smooth, bare planes of his back open for your fingertips to drag across, tracing patterns and swirls that don't exist. His breathing slows and evens out, quiet huffs washing over your neck, and your hands slow and then stop, one resting against the back of his neck, curled into the soft strands of hair there, the other on his waist, fingers tucked slightly into the waistband of his pajama pants. He nuzzles further into your shoulder, nose hidden in your collarbones, and a whispered "Love you," reaches your ears, the words meshed together with exhaustion, but soft and warm and slow. "Love you, too."
