Tom was just reading on his bed, his reading glasses on and the lampshade turned on beside him, when he heard the tell-tale sound of the door opening and closing.

He looked up as he closed his book, a finger trapped in the middle of the pages he was just in. The room was dimly lit, but he could see the distant outline of his husband walking towards their dresser to change.

"Harry?" he called softly.

There was a sound of rustling, then an added weight to the bed as a smaller body shifted to his side.

"I'm here," Harry answered in return. His voice was set in a comforting whisper, as well, yet there was a foreign scratchiness that made Tom pause.

He took Harry's face in his hands, and he was not surprised to see the faint tear tracks that he failed to wash out trailing down his cheeks, and the redness of his eyes and cheeks.

"You've been crying." It was stated as a solemn fact, one that prompted Tom to shift up and brush a few stray hairs out of Harry's forehead.

Harry cleared his throat to rid of the scratchiness, and he placed his glasses at the bedside table where their only current source of light stood.

"There was a film on the TV that made me cry," he admitted sheepishly, comforting Tom that it was nothing to worry about. "I got attached to one of the characters, but he ended up dying at the end." It was in vain, however, as his voice ended up cracking slightly at the last word.

Tom frowned, and he placed his own glasses and the bookmarked novel at the bedside table as well. "Did he now?" he murmured, in spite himself.

He never really understood why people got so attached to fictional characters that you've only known for an hour or two of movie time. He knew better than to be tricked by Hollywood producers and writers, with their character tropes and such. Harry just so happened to be one of those people, however, and Tom learned to slowly get the idea of it.

Harry paused for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," he finally said, rubbing his eyes and letting out a shaky laugh. "It was a stupid thing to cry about, wasn't it? This guy in the movie… I don't know - he just reminded me of you, kind of." He shrugged helplessly.

Tom's heart clenched in understanding at that. He reached to take Harry's hands off his hands and gripped it tight between them. Instinctively, he started rubbing the ring that was wrapped around Harry's finger.

"I won't be going anywhere anytime soon," he hoarsely promised, his grip getting a little too tight, before relaxing altogether. He laced their fingers together. "I promise you that, Harry. I'll always be with you. Even after death."

Harry made a slight disbelieving sound at that, but one look from Tom made him frown and look down in hesitant acceptance of his words.

As a last chance of a change of atmosphere, Tom grinned. "I didn't just marry you because the rings looked pretty, you know."

Harry gave a dry chuckle at that. "Yeah… I guess you're right about that." He slid down to his bed, and Tom followed suit. "I just…" He bit his lips, uncertain. "I don't know. I guess it just came to me that you're not immortal, no matter how much you act like it."

Tom stayed silent for a while, so long that Harry had thought he had already fallen asleep. Before he could call to check, though, Tom started to speak.

"'Death is the next greatest adventure,'" he quoted begrudgingly. "I heard a wise man say that to me once, when I expressed my own worries about this. Although I'd loath to admit it, I respected him for his wisdom."

Harry smiled against his chest. "Did you now?" he softly said, in mocking of Tom's past words.

"Go to sleep, Harry."

A yawn, and then a content hum as he rested his forehead on his collarbones. "Okay."

When Harry seemed a bit more clingy in his sleep than usual, Tom pretended to not notice.