You heard sounds in the kitchen, pots and pans, a bit of stirring here and there. Your hand instinctively reached to feel him but he wasn’t there; he got up early, which was unlike him.

He stood in the kitchen, his bare back towards you as you descended the stairs — evidence of last night’s events on his back.

“Morning,” he says, more focused on the cooking than you, “I’m making breakfast for you, for relieving my stress last night.” You could see the subtle hints of a smile on his lips.