John was like a bear.

You noticed this almost immediately, on the first, completely awkward (mostly on his part) date, when his beard pricked your cheek during a kiss, and he mumbled an apology into his fist, blushing at the same time. This man had big intentions and a big heart, he listened to your stories about work with such sincerity and remembered your morning order at the nearest bakery when he wanted to surprise you with breakfast.

He was built like the role of Santa Claus was written for him. His height, the wide set of his shoulders, the proportionate hips and the hardness (and at the same time softness) of his stomach literally screamed "Put this man in a red suit!" And, you were ready to bet that if nature had gifted him blonde hair, every child would have stopped next to him at the mall, wanting to give a letter to Santa personally.

At some point, you stopped hiding the analogy altogether, starting to gift John small things with a bear. His large tea mug, brown and with a distinct ceramic muzzle; his warm knitted sweater with patterns of bears. God, you even bought a sticker on the furniture, and now on John's shelf with his aftershave cream it said "Daddy Bear's Stuff."

And now were the moments when he looked even more like this big, slightly awkward, but inexorably kind animal.

"Grrr." He grunted gutturally, sitting up in bed.

You watched, leaning against the doorjamb to your bedroom, as he scratched first the back of his head, and then his chin, burying his fingers in his beard. The blanket was perfectly curled around his hips, covering his boxers, and exposing his bare legs and chest, on which hung a chain with his wedding ring.

A bear, no other way. The most charming bear in the world.