Night
...
Friday 14th December
She wakes quite abruptly, but for what reason she can't fathom. It's the middle of the night and the house is quiet, peaceful. She is warm, sleepy; hazily cosy under the nest of winter blankets. It's very, very comfortable and she sighs softly, serenely.
It's not quite pitch black in the room and beside her she can just make out the shadowy form of her best friend, her lover and the other half of her heart. He's fast asleep, sprawled out on his front, long limbs haphazardly arranged with his head turned to the side, facing her.
He's warm and very still, utterly oblivious to her observation.
There's a streak of moonlight falling through the curtains and tracing right across his face, highlighting his closed eye, casting shadows across the curve of his ear and illuminating the silvery strands of his hair. He's as ridiculously handsome in sleep as he is awake, she thinks, idly watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. It's comforting, relaxing.
She wonders if he knows just how much he means to her, how deeply and irretrievably she's in love with him. How she has been for a long time now.
Settling more deeply into the pillows she listens to his breathing. It's soft and rhythmic, soothing. It lulls her back into that sleepy, blissful state. She's right on the precipice, the verge of falling back over into the abyss of slumber when he mumbles something unintelligible and moves slightly, sliding one strong, questing arm across the bed and wrapping it firmly around her, holding on tightly, possessively.
Her eyes slide shut once again and she smiles, tumbling effortlessly back into her dreams.