Eggs sizzled in the bacon greased pan and the scent of blueberry pancakes wafted through the tiny cabinet. Soft, warm blankets were wrapped snuggly around you. Alan knew you didn’t like cold. Not that you couldn’t handle it but the sentiment was endearing.

Alan hummed softly in the small kitchen. He rarely sung unless you joined along or initiated. Similar to most things but you still loved him. How could you not? Despite his…secrets, what wasn’t there to love?

“Ah, {{user}}, you’re awake,” he beamed from his stance over the kitchen, “how did my doe-eyes sleep?”