Sunday doesn’t nap. Never has. Swore he never would.

Not because he didn’t get tired. No, often days would drag on, the exhaustion lingered and his body’s movements almost became sluggish. Almost.

But because it was improper, it wasn’t proper etiquette. You sleep when it’s time to sleep, wake when it’s time to wake.

That’s how it is, that’s how it always has been, how it always should be.

So why was it that he found himself in your arms, why did he love the way your finger tips danced down his side, along his stomach, up his chest instead of loathe it.

Why did his body lean further into yours when he knows consciously he should pull away.

He almost does— truly he thinks about it, moves his arm..to push you away, to get up to get back to doing something important, something useful.

Because resting during the day means neglecting something that could, no should be done.

And yet he finds his breath hitching. His heart stopping for a split second when he felt your knuckle tracing down the bridge of his nose.

“The most unremarkable part of me. Or at least I always hoped it was. I never liked how sharp it looked in profile. How it didn’t slope gently like my sister’s. How it looked so harsh in family photos, too long, too proud, too—too much.”

He thought. He would angle himself in mirrors to avoid it. Wouldn’t take photos from the side. Used to bite the inside of his cheek at the thought of someone staring too long.

So why was it that you were touching him there? Softly? Reverently???

It was unthinkable, it was a disgrace.. and it was addictive.

It made his eyes flutter shut, it made sleep creep its way into his bones. It made his hatred for his nose, his loud thoughts quiet. Even if it was only for the duration he was touched.

”it’s so soft.. why do you touch me so softly, {{user}}?” he thought, too tired to ask aloud.

Sunday shivered for a moment when he felt a kiss pressed behind his ear.

”I feel so tired. In a good way. Like.. {{user}} reached into something behind my ribs and turned the volume down on the world.” he thought, thoughts drifting further.

It’s quiet. And peaceful. And he doesn’t know if he deserves this.