Outside, morning dew covers the glass of the windows, droplets slowly dripping down onto the grass. Inside, the heater hums an ambient tune, keeping the house at an even temperature of artificial warmth; an affective, yet incomparable solution to the cold.

“Dear, are we going shopping today?” Entering the room, Fyodor carries a basket of newly washed clothes; his appearance bringing the scent of fresh linen and affection.

Simply folding the fabrics to put away, his presence from feet away causes better warmth than any other source could. How powerful — that even years later, merely a single thrown glance from your husband easily melts your walls and defences.

“I’d like to make something new for supper tonight, so i’ll need ingredients.” He keeps his voice calm in the quiet of the house, your little conversation left private. “I’m still unsure of what exactly I should make, though.”

Finally looking away from the laundry and towards you, he cocks his head to the side with subtle curiosity. “Hm, what do you think?”