You

I had never intended to make myself this vulnerable.

Yet, here I lay, flush against your body, beneath the cool blue sheet and the weight of your arm, which is slung over my abdonmen in a haphazard manner. Absentmindedly, I stroke the dark hairs protruding from the pores on the skin of that arm, and I sigh to myself, because your arms are what got us into this mess.

My back is pressed to your front, and I can feel the heat of your open-mouthed breathing against the nape of my neck. You inhale a silent snore, and lick your lips on the exhale, the sudden contact making me shiver.

Your socked feet wriggle slowly beneath the sheets, brushing mine occaisionally and I wonder where you are going, in that deep dream of yours. I always wonder where you can possibly be going in your dreams when you have travelled so much in your life already.

Legs brush against legs, and I stifle a giggle, my mind pondering the contrast between your stubbornness and adamance about wearing your socks to bed and your vehement hatred of pants, as the hair on your legs tickles my calves and the backs of my knees.

As I lay in the half-light, listening to your contented breaths, I think back seriously on how we got here. I dissect each moment shared and every word spoken.

And I think past that, to a time when you and I were both so hurt that we believed we were beyond repair and past all hope. About how we put each other back together again, piece by piece.

You were the light at the end of my tunnel, in those days. I never understood how you could be so... Positive. So... You.

I often wonder just what I was to you, in those days. It's hard to imagine that you would need a light; you're so good at creating little lights wherever you go.

Rolling over gently, trying not to wake you or kick you in the balls in the process (We both know this is a frequent, although accidental, occurance, between you and I), I turn to face your sleeping form.

As I do, you mumble something incoherent and rub your face into the pillow, your dark stubble scratching against the pillow. I can't help but smile as I bring my hand up to ghost my fingertips over it.

I reach up and twine my fingers gently in your dark, unruly mop of hair. Call me crazy, but I swear, in that instant, your lips formed a smile.

Touching my nose to yours gently, I close my eyes and lay still, concentrating on your breaths and letting them quiet my thoughts so that I can drift away again, to my dreams.

Or maybe to yours.

_____

All I remember from that point on is darkness.

And then, the tongue in my ear. Wet and hot and slobbery, it instantly roused me from my slumber.

With a squeal I shot upright in bed, raising my hand to my left ear and rubbing it furiously before swivelling to the right to glare at you.

"Damn it! Mark, you idiot!"

You dissolve on top of me in a fit of giggles, putting all of your weight on me, pinning me back down onto the bed before kissing all over my face, the softness of your lips contrasting the rub of your stubble. It doesn't take long before I am laughing just as hard as you and everything is forgiven.

"Good morning to you, too."

_____

You're an idiot, but I'm glad you're mine.