The Ramblings of a Gynesexual Enby

Bedtime

It's late, or early, depending on who you ask. The air inside is a little chilly, preferable for sleeping, and I have been sitting in just a t-shirt and shorts for hours, working on a work in progress. You've gone to bed hours ago, wrapped up in the blankets and dead to the world. Or so I had thought.

I finish up a part of the project, and hear footsteps behind me. I only panic a little bit before turning around, finding you shuffling sleepily towards me, a frown on your lips and hands rubbing at your eyes. I tilt my head, asking if something is the matter.

"You weren't in bed," you say, stopping just inches away from me. "I keep waking up."

I frown and reach out, turning fully towards you to pull you into my arms. "I'm sorry," I say, pressing my face to your shirt to smell you. You smell like sleep, and lavender, and laundry soap.

You cling to me for a moment before letting go and stepping back, taking my hand and pulling me up out of my desk chair. You lead me to bed, making sure I get in properly, and then you wrap yourself around me, as if to pin me down so I can't disappear. I smile, loving the clingyness of a sleepy, vulnerable you. I want nothing more than to keep you safe and happy and content, as much as I am able.

I wrap my arms around you, scratching softly at your scalp in the way I know puts you to sleep. You hum happily, snuggling in, and I smile. "Love you," you mumble, moving just enough to be heard.

"I love you too," I answer, hoping you can feel the emotion that's bursting out of my chest.