trouble (kudra) wrote,


Came home one night last week and noticed our summer quilt had been replaced with the two thick winter ones. My slippers were under the nightstand. Went downstairs to throw my gym clothes in the wash and found my pink thermal underwear, flannel pj bottoms and oversized hoodies drying on the line. So this is what that secretive little smile was about. I find him in front of the stove, hook my fingers in his beltloops and turn him towards me. "Thank you."

"I'm really glad you came home."


I wake up because he's moving my right elbow. And my foot. What the? It's early, hours before my alarm goes off- but probably an hour after his did. My irritation dissipates as my foggy brain deduces what he's doing. Shifting the piles of sleepy dogs so that one touches each foot, tucking my tangled limbs back under the quilts and draping the saddleblanket that he's had his whole life over me. It's no Norwegian personal furnace, but I love the weight of it.  "I wanted to take the dogs out for you, but I'm running a little late." I make sleepy girl noises that I hope convey that this is okay. He kisses me, wishes me a happy day and I'm thinking it's pretty good so far- given that it doesn't officially start for a few hours. He's halfway down the hall before I'm coherent enough to get out a "Hey, hey." He's leaning in the doorway when I say "Me too."

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