It’s like a scene from an art nouveau movie.
The white cotton of the duvet is just covering the lower half of his chest and pelvis, wrapped round in a perfectly accidental cover of his modesty, his body a simple, beautiful work of art.
It’s 12.30 in the afternoon but of course the curtains are closed – it’s our day off, still far too early to let the world in just yet.
The light from his laptop is perfectly highlighting his features in a soft white glow.
He’s distracted. He doesn’t realise I’m gazing at him the way I am. Thankfully.
I always feel silly the way I admire him. But how could I not.
I keep wondering how the day will turn out. Do I go out? Stay in?
But I know as well as you do that I don’t care.
I could stay this way all day.
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