It wasn't often that Ann woke up to her husband having nightmares at 3 am. When they did occur however, it always started with hearing him screaming. And it was a heart-piercing, gut wrenching scream that left his throat sore.
Hearing this, she turned on the light, shaking him and trying to wake him as he murmured "not again, not again," over and over in his sleep. It was always upsetting to hear this, hear him scream.
"Akira, Akira! Wake up!" Ann was becoming frantic. They were very, very rarely so bad that she had to resort to a slap or pinch to wake him. As much as she hated to hurt him, she knew it was for the greater good. Reaching under the blanket, she pinched his thigh. His eyelids, having been shut tightly, opened. He blinked at the ceiling, so used to waking up alone, in an effort to clear his mind. The light from his wife's side of the bed disoriented him, as it had always done. He looked over and was met with her piercing teal orbs.
His eyes held vulnerability. Instead of his usual, calm and warm feeling, these eyes held the feeling of broken glass on water, broken and drifting. He was desperately trying to pull it together, and found that he couldn't, making the broken expression look shattered. Ann hated that he had to go through this.
Ann's teal eyes were mesmerizing. They seemed to see through whatever facade he could build, piercing his soul. She broke eye contact, leaning up and shutting the lamp off. He felt her coming closer, until he was entrapped in a hug. She didn't murmur words of comfort. She was just there, as she always had been. Just - as she always assured him - she always would be.
And that was what he needed.
Not for the first time, Akira Kurusu buried his face in his wife's neck and began to cry as she reached up and stroked his hair. And not for the first time, Ann Kurusu cried with him, cried for the man who had gone through so much.