This isn't right.

The sheets are smooth against my naked skin; they should be coarse; leaving my skin red and scratched.

I have my own pillows; I should have to share his.

The bed is big enough for the both of us; I should have to squeeze my body between his and the cold exposed brick wall.

His arms snake around my body; as he pushes his face into the back of my shoulder, and inhales deeply; still clearly asleep. He shouldn't be asleep; he should stay resolutely awake; claiming that he does no longer need rest.

He should be able to take a bullet, and be able to wake up again.

He should be Captain Jack Harkness; but he isn't.