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“It’s getting late, love,” Atticus says, his voice getting that grogginess it always got when it was past eleven. Jean looks up at him, noting the deep eye bags he had under his big, slightly chiseled, brown eyes. She turns toward him and cups his cheek.
“I know… You had a very long day, hm?” She replies, rubbing his ruggedly handsome face. He silently nods, his eyes weighing heavier by the second. Jean bobs her head and steadies him by wrapping his arm over her shoulder. “Let’s go inside, Atti.”
“Yes ma’am…” He mumbles, thumping his two feet ever so slowly, one by one, across the back porch. Standing right outside the screen door, he glances back at his aiding wife and slowly blinks.
Leaning up against her, he mumbles something unintelligent.
Jean chuckles, patting Atticus’ shoulder. “You never get this tired… Maybe you should take a day off tomorrow.” She opens the screen door, snapping into its frame.
“Jean-y…” He mutters her rarely used affectionate nickname. It makes her freeze in her tracks, the door open and letting in the cold air from outdoors. When Atticus felt his most affectionate, he’d use his favorite pet name on her: Jean-y.
The corners of Jean’s lips curl into a small smile. “Ye-s, Atticus?”
Atticus weighs his whole body weight on her, all two-hundred seven pounds of him. “Oof… Baby…” Jean grunts, stumbling back a bit.
“… Sorry,” he says under his breath. He wraps his big arms around her waist and mutters, “… You’re even more beautiful in the moonlight…”
Jean’s eyebrows rise on her four-fingered forehead, her cheek growing pinker and pinker as his words ring in her ears over and over again. “Fwah…” Her lips curl, trying and failing to find friction. Her brows knit in together, her cheeks glowing bright pink. “W- Well… Thanks about that, baby.” She kisses his forehead.
“Any time, sugar…” He yawns, slumping over Jean while she dragged him into their bedroom.