He stirs and turns towards me, nestling his knee between the warmth of my legs and resting a palm carelessly on my breast. He sleeps like a petulant child that had been awoken from deep slumber, with deep lines between his brows and a pout of his luscious lower lip. He trembles dramatically when he’s cold and kicks the duvet away when it’s too warm. I kiss his eyelids and the creases on his forehead lightens, and he snuggles closer.
I want to protect him, for I know all his weaknesses. He is a man when he faces the world but only a child in the sanctuary of his bed. But his ego and pride stands between us like an invisible wall made of his personal demons, and with each day that I’m allowed to stay beside him, I am a willing bystander ready to catch him when he falls.