Maybe
Each night he watches out his window with a pen between his fingers and the lid between his lips. His eyes wonder down the road and everytime a person walks past his heart skips a beat, because he hopes it is you. But it never is. He clenches his fists - sometimes in fury, sometimes in sadness - and ducks his head to the desk below him, slamming the pen down and spitting the pen lid out of the window. He closes the window then, but leaves it just a tiny bit open.
He undresses and tucks himself away under blankets with only a pair of dark brown trousers to keep him warm. Because usually it is your job, but you're always out now. He doesn't question why - and he never will because he's frightened of the answers.
Each night you come back, covered in blood and dirt. He watches you with half-lidded, tired eyes and sits up. You shush him softly and stroke his hair as you place your shovel and clothes in a pile in the corner. He watches you, ready to get up and move them but you stare at him with a dark glare; telling him to stay in bed. Safe.
Maybe, he thinks, you assume he's an idiot. He knows the danger you put yourself into and the fact that you may never come back again. So when you get into the bed with him and lay on your side with him curled beside you; he will turn and curl, instead, against you and wait for your arms to go around him.
You feel him sigh against you because you know he's worried, but you brush it off and kiss his head softly. He knows you may never come back one day, which is why every night you feel a tear drop onto your stomach and you feel his body shiver in fear.
You know that this is all for the best - for Gregory's safety. But for Gregory, are you willing to break his heart in order to save it?