We’re lying on his couch, spooning, a blanket tossed casually over us. Helvetica is on. It’s been a long day. I drift in and out of sleep, safe in his arms.

I’m poking at his arm hair. I remark on how it’s a completely different color than his chest hair. He says something about his leg hair, and I throw off the covers to inspect. My face is inches away from his leg.

We’re lying in his bed, facing each other. Both his arms are wrapped around me. My face is buried in the crook of his neck as he holds me tight.

I poke at his Adam’s Apple. He asks me if I’m hungry. I lean in to nibble at it, making silly munching sounds and causing him to squirm away, guffawing.

He asks me a question. The world spins in and out of focus. Everything lurches as I lie still. It’s probably because I skipped dinner last night and didn’t eat a proper lunch, but I like to think that it’s him.