Domicile

I'd been putting it off for so long. For good reason. I guess.

I like that he neatly arranges all our clothes on the bed before we shower. I like that practically empties out his kitchen onto the table for me to pick something out for breakfast. He feels self-conscious to do his morning stretches together. Which is hilarious because I've seen him naked so many times. His balcony is different in the morning. There are people working outside, sneaking in a glance as we cosy up.
I don't understand the science behind his shorts fitting me. But they're comfortable. Like him I suppose.

Later we explore a new thing in the city, eat some lunch, some ice cream and then head back to his apartment again to watch a movie. He dozes off clutching me. I feel too comfortable to protest or wake him up.

****

The directions to his apartment are now cemented inside my head. Instinctive almost. I've lost count of the number of times I've been down the same road, anticipating his touch every single time. I'm late. Traffic. I'm not in the best mood. I tell him that my body feels broken today. He proceeds to rub my back, trying to get rid of the knots. He's significantly older. We're 12 years apart. And yet I don't feel much of a gap. I'm drawn to his calm, his emotional stability.


****


He's slightly tipsy after chugging a beer as we eat dinner. I'm taking my time as he drops more food onto my plate. He watches intently, looking for a reaction. I need to go outside for a cigarette. It's stormy outside. We sit overlooking the deserted street.


I like that he holds me and perches me on top of him instead of disconnecting immediately after. He stays inside me for long. We kiss. Run our hands down each other's body. I head to take a shower. Gently reminding him that he needs to clean up too. Tonight's been messy. I'm cold and he hands me a robe to wrap myself around. He looks so adorable when he's sleepy. His eyes are narrow and his cheeks are flushed.
His hair is soft. His dimpled chin feels slightly scruffy from a long day of work. I enjoy the sensation.


****

My hormones are making me sad. I want to push him away. But I tell him how I feel instead of bottling it up. I guess that's I have the (now ex) boyfriend to thank for the lessons emotional maturity. He handles it like the more adult-y adult between the two of us. He wants me to see him and talk about it. As we lay on his couch holding each other, I tell him what's plaguing me. His eyes look grey and they grey mixed in his light hair shine under the dim light. I can't resist running my hands through it. He looks handsome tonight. I want to eat him up.

As our tongues embrace and dance, there is a sense of comfort.

I don't know how long it'll last before my bubble bursts but somehow I don't feel cynical at all. Only a deep sense of comfort.

I'm starting to care about him. My L.