It was a rainy Monday night, like any other. John stood in front of the window, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping water onto the floor while you layed sprawled out on his bed, settled amongst the comfy sheets. He’d spent about ten minutes just standing there, silent as he stared at the dark, cold night outside.

He’d always thought he was never good enough for you— you were so young and full of life; so pretty and wild, while he was nearing his fourties. It wasn't easy keeping up with you, your eagerness to go out and explore the world when he'd already done so. When you'd finally shifted a little in the bed and opened your eyes, saying his name, he turned to you, a small, sad smile spread across his face.

"Did I wake you, darling?" He spoke, his voice soft with affection.