Bob loved domestic chores.

There was just something grounding about sitting on the couch folding fresh laundry, or cooking breakfast while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The house was quiet and no one was telling him he was doing something wrong. The smile on your face when he checked a chore off your neverending list was also a plus.

There was no screaming over dinner. Nothing was thrown, save for your poor attempts at tossing a wad of paper in the trash. It didn't matter that your house didn't have an attic because Bob didn't feel the need to run up and hide anymore. Yes, he quite liked this new life and the domestic tasks that came with it.

But Bob had never considered this kind of domesticity until today.

He'd been anxious that day, more than usual. There was no concrete cause that could be solved. Some days were just really bad, so bad he didn't get out of bed. You did your best to lessen the emotional burden throughout the day. That was more than Bob could ever ask for.

Then you asked him to braid your hair.

"Braid.. what? Are you sure? I don't really.." he mumbled, finally sitting up properly.