I wake up to the smell of coffee and rain.
Both are coming from outside the bedroom, the coffee from the kitchen and the rain from the window where the city is doing its grey Saturday thing, and I lie there for a moment in the specific warmth of a bed that has stopped feeling like someone else's and started feeling like mine.
The key is on the nightstand.
I put it there last night when we got home from the rooftop restaurant, slightly wine warm and completely certain, and it sat there while we found our way to the bedroom and it is still there now, small and plain and the most significant object I own currently.
Chosen.
I get up and find Rhys in the kitchen in a grey shirt and bare feet, which has become my favourite version of him, unhurried and domestic and completely un
