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Angela stood at the bathroom sink, still wearing her LAPD sweatshirt from patrol, hair in a lazy bun that had mostly fallen apart over the course of the shift.
She stared blankly into the mirror, blinking slowly. Her eyeliner had smudged sometime after the second call-out. The dark circles under her eyes were doing overtime. She reached for her toothbrush, ignoring the skincare products lined up across the vanity.
Screw it. She was too tired.
Angela brushed her teeth on autopilot, eyes half-lidded, already planning to skip the moisturizer, the serum, the whole damn routine. All she wanted was her pillow and the warm weight of Wesley.
But then, as she spit and reached for a towel, she heard it, footsteps padding softly behind her.
Wesley leaned against the bathroom doorway, hair still damp from a shower, a soft cotton T-shirt clinging to his chest in a way she might have appreciated more if she weren’t seconds from passing out. His eyes landed on her face with a quiet concern.
“You’re not doing your routine?” he asked, voice low but warm.
Angela sighed, pressing the towel to her face. “Don’t have the energy. I already brushed my teeth. Gold star for me.” She muttered, glaring at the assortment of serums before looking away as though they haunted her.
Wesley smiled, stepping into the bathroom, barefoot and familiar. “Hmm,” he said, scanning the cluttered sink. “That doesn’t sound like the woman who once lectured me about sleeping in sunscreen residue.”
“Desperate times,” she muttered. She went to move past him, but he caught her gently by the wrist.
“Let me do it,” he said.
She blinked at him. “Do what?”
“Your routine. Just stay still. Let me take care of you tonight.”
Angela stared at him for a long second. “Wes-”
“I know,” he said softly, already reaching for her toner. “You’re tired. That’s why I’m offering.”
And maybe it was the gentleness in his voice. Maybe it was the way he looked at her like she was still everything good in the world, but Angela let him guide her back toward the sink without another word.
Angela closed her eyes as Wesley dabbed a cotton pad against her skin, his touch gentle and adoring. His fingers were warm, gliding across her cheeks, her forehead, down the slope of her nose.
“You missed a spot,” she murmured, eyes still closed.
“Impossible,” Wesley said, with mock offense. “I’m very thorough. I read the instruction label.”
Angela opened one eye, cocking an eyebrow. “You read the back of a skincare bottle?”
“I’m a lawyer. I read everything.”
She laughed, soft and tired. “Nerd.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Wesley swapped the toner for moisturizer, squeezing a small amount onto his fingers. He warmed it between his palms before gently cupping her face, smoothing it into her skin in careful, upward strokes.
“I’m pretty sure you’re making that part up,” she said, lips twitching.
“Nope. Upward strokes prevent sagging.”
She blinked at him. “Where did you learn that?”
He hesitated, then admitted, “I may have watched a couple of videos.”
Angela gave him a look, half touched, half amused. “You watched skincare tutorials?”
Wesley leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, low vocal he always used when he was trying to distract her. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t mess up your glow.”
She snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
He smiled, brushing the pads of his thumbs along her cheekbones. “It’s romantic.”
“It’s excessive.”
“It’s love,” he said simply.
Angela went quiet at that, her eyes softening.
Wesley reached for the eye cream next, delicately patting it under her eyes.
“This is so dumb,” she whispered.
He stilled. “You okay?”
She nodded, blinking quickly. “Yeah. It’s just- I spend all day being strong and... tough. And then you come in here with your soft hands and your overpriced moisturizer and I feel like, like I don’t have to be any of those things. Just me.”
Wesley smiled at her like she’d just handed him the moon.
“That’s the idea,” he said, brushing a final touch of balm over her lips.
Then he leaned in, kissed her softly once, then again. On the corner of her mouth, the curve of her jaw, the tip of her nose. She tried to fight the grin forming on her face, but he caught it, kissed that, too.
Her voice was breathless with laughter. “What are you doing?”
Wesley pulled back just slightly, eyes gleaming. “Your skincare isn’t complete without a dozen little kisses dotted all over your face.”
Angela groaned dramatically. “God, you’re so corny.”
“And yet, you’re still married to me.”
“Tragic oversight.”
He kissed her forehead. “That’s one.”
“Don’t you dare-”
“Two,” he whispered against her cheek. “Three.”
Angela giggled, squirming as he dotted kisses across her skin. Nose. Chin. Brow. Her laughter turned quiet, sleepy. She let her head fall to his chest, arms wrapping lazily around his waist.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbled into his shirt.
“You smell like lavender night cream.”
“You smell like a man who owns three versions of the same cardigan.”
“And yet, here we are. True love.”
Wesley pulled back just enough to look at her.
Angela’s cheeks were flushed from laughter, her eyes sleepy and warm, and the faint sheen of moisturizer made her skin glow in the soft bathroom light.
“You really think my skin needs a dozen kisses?” she teased, though her voice had lost all sarcasm now. It was low, hushed.
Wesley tilted his head like he was considering it. Then he gave a lazy shrug, his lips curving into that boyish smile that still made her heart jump even after all these years.
“I think you need them,” he said. “And I need to give them.”
Wesley reached up again, fingers brushing under her chin, guiding her face toward his.
“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “About the dozen kisses. I counted.”
Angela’s lips parted in a protest that never quite made it out. Before she could reply, he pressed his mouth to her temple. “Four.”
Then to the soft spot beneath her eye. “Five.”
The apple of her cheek. “Six.”
The corner of her lips, barely there. “Seven.”
“Wes-”
“Eight.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “Nine.” Her other cheek. “Ten.”
By the time he reached eleven, brushing the kiss along her jawline, she was holding her breath.
It was pure adoration.
He paused just shy of her lips.
“Twelve,” he whispered, and kissed her mouth, impossibly gentle.
Angela leaned into it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shir. She kissed him back with the kind of softness she didn’t offer the rest of the world. How rare, how lucky, how deeply she loved this man in front of her.
When they finally broke apart, she stayed close, forehead resting against his.
“You’re ruining me,” she whispered.
Wesley smiled. “That’s the goal.”
The bedroom lights were dimmed low when they finally slipped under the covers, Angela curled against Wesley's side, her head resting on his chest, the steady rhythmm of his heartbeat slowing her own.
His arm slid around her shoulders, fingertips drawing circles along her arm.
Angela let out a content sigh, melting further into him. “You know,” she murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of his T-shirt, “I’ve arrested people for less intense displays of affection.”
Wesley chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head. “What can I say? I’m a repeat offender.”
“Mm.” She lifted her head just enough to look at him, eyes soft but tired. “You really do know me. Like… all of me. The good, the bad, the cranky, the stubborn. And somehow, you still want to rub toner on my face and kiss my forehead like I’m the best part of your day.”
“You are the best part of my day,” he said, so simply and so seriously that her breath hitched. “Even when you're cranky.”
“Especially when I’m cranky,” she muttered, eyes narrowing playfully.
“Obviously.”
She smiled, and laid her head back down.
Then, in her sleepiest, driest voice, she added, “You realize this means you’re doing my morning routine, too.”
Wesley blinked. “Wait- what?”
“You started it,” she yawned.
“I think we had a verbal agreement that this was a one-time thing.”
“There was no such agreement.”
“I need my lawyer present.”
She grinned against his chest. “Your lawyer’s in bed. With me. You lose.”
Wesley sighed dramatically, brushing a hand through her hair. “Fine. But I draw the line at cold sheet masks.”
“Noted,” she mumbled, already half-asleep. “You’re still the best thing I’ve ever done right.”
Wesley looked down at her, his wife, already dozing with her face still faintly glowing from the routine he’d memorized just for her.
“And you,” he whispered, kissing her hair one last time, “are my whole damn heart.”