I woke up to a clean apartment. That meant one thing: he's back. I don't like to think of myself as a total slob, but I guess I could be seen as one. What else would be expected of a 22 year old on his own with no woman to help him and can't cook? Exactly- a mess.

Tom wasn't exactly the cleanest person, but I suppose growing up with a maid sets his standards a little higher. I'm surprised he knows how to clean. I'm surprised he picked me.

He tells me I don't see myself clearly. He points out how often I get hit on when I'm out at night. They don't care about who I am, though; they care about who I play on screen and the money that comes with it. Tom on the other hand knew me before that. He comes from money himself.

But who am I to question him? He wants me, and I want him. No, I need him. And I think he needs me. So I'll go to him.

I roll out of bed only to find him in the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee. I'm glad he figured that out. I haven't been able to work that machine for months. He looked up as I walked over to the table and flashed that gorgeous grin I haven't seen for weeks. I haven't seen that shirt for weeks either. I thought I had lost it. He had it. Plaid. It looked perfect on him.

He stood up then. My jeans. I've only had 2 pairs of pants because of him. I couldn't stay mad, though. He looked too good in them. Better than I ever could. I'd share my whole life with this man. Everything looked better with him. Except my hat. That hat was like a security blanket. It took the attention off my hair.

By this time he was right in front of me. I could feel his breath on my lips. He hasn't shaved. I like him that way. His hair grows slower than mine. I know he's proud of the scruff that he has. I am too.

His lips are on my mouth now and I can't help but respond. My arms circle his thin waist- he hasn't chubbed up like I have. But I can't cook and In-n-Out is just too convenient. I don't regret it.

He opens his mouth to me and as my tongue massages his, I hear him moan. I feel him moan. I do this to him he does this to me.

He smacks my ass and I feel myself become more aroused. He feels it too.

"Let's move this to the bedroom."

We do. My clothes are removed (from both of our bodies (that thief)).

I panic.

I knew we would eventually get to this place in our relationship. 10 years of foreplay. But I'm not ready. We're not ready. I can feel how tense he is.

"I'm sorry, baby."

He's perfect. Most guys would push. But not Tom. My Tom.

I love him.

And I think he loves me. That's all we need from each other. He knows this. I know this.

I didn't realize I was crying until he wiped my tears away. But he doesn't mention it. He's perfect.

We fell asleep in each others' arms that night. It was a feeling I missed while he was away.

"I love you, Tom."

"I love you, too, Rob."