Lying with your head on his chest, soft music played in the background. Your favorite songs. "Those vent songs you like." He'd smiled when you got home. Lights were off, candles lit, music on, the atmosphere perfect.

You stared up at him as he stroked his fingers through your hair. "How are you?" Without really thinking, you replied. "Fine" "No, I mean... How are you?" he repeated. Those sweet, sweet words. No one ever said those words to you, not in a very long time. Why now?