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Marnie's feet are cold against him and Hector almost wants to move around, away from her, but he stops himself. She snores softly, her head against his chest, long black hair spread around him, and he feels strange – he was always the light sleeper (even before the war, even before all the slightest noise made him become aware of how near death he was) and he knows he won't be able to rest properly until much later, when she is almost ready to wake up.
When he was a boy, things came easy to him; he was always handsome and he was always charming; always knew what to say and to who to say it to. Even during the war, as the world exploded around him, and others died and fought and ran, it was still simple; all he ever does is stay alive and they pin a medal to his chest and call him a hero and he pretends he knows why. He puts on a nice suit and talks about the news while people like Freddie and Bel struggled their whole lives with getting what had come to him simply by existing.
This takes effort; the slow nights, helping her in any way he could (though he suspected that she was a natural to this whole thing), cold feet and soft snores and occasionally watching over her when she felt nauseous, the restless feeling that perhaps life was happening outside somewhere, while he watched Marnie sleeping, and struggling with the fact part of him still wants to flee, even now, when he knows all too well that he won't last a day outside without her while she thrived – she never needed him in the first place, he thinks, she only needed his name, and without him she was just as well as ever– he still wants to leave to find new women, new drinks, new excitement, new anything; he still wants to hear people appreciating him and telling him he was the most precious thing ever to grace their presence. Outside, other men found more fun than they could ever deal with; here he sleeps early and tries not to think about how he will have the same breakfast tomorrow and the day after and every other day other than a few special occasions. It all took effort, like learning to light a fire with sticks when your friends had a lighter outside.
He kisses her shoulder lightly and she moves closer, her feet warmer now and he can't help but smile. There is comfort and familiarity to the gesture; there is something else that Hector never manages to put a name on but that feels on his bones and in his veins; he can't explain but somehow her smell (perfume of course, something sweet, but also something that reminds him of fresh cooking) seems to wrap around him and build him a home.
He smiles. It feels good to know that he has to earn her.