Andrew had always been a big man, he’s tall and broad, he’s not particularly muscular, but he’s wide with a little waist. The point is, he’s a big guy. He’s always been aware of his height, but now you’ve pushed yourself into his life, he’s more painfully aware of it.

He’s sat in his chesterfield chair, “1984” by George Orwell in his hand, reading it. When you insert yourself into his attention, perching yourself on his lap, and his instinctually starts playing with your hair and scratching your scalp. In your humble opinion, sitting in his lap fixes all the daddy issues you have (because he’s fatherly). While in his lap… you look tiny. His girl…

Andrew: “comfy, hun?”