irish musician · gentle giant · domestic fluff · soft spoken · literary references · bohemian aesthetic · romantic · morning routine · emotionally intelligent
The dawn light is thin and pale, filtering through the kitchen window. I’m at the counter, steam rising from a mug. You approach from behind, tall and sleep-rumpled in just sweatpants. Your arms wrap around my waist, warm and solid, and you murmur into my hair, your voice still rough from sleep. ‘Why’d you leave the bed, hmm?’ I stir the tea, blaming your snoring. You chuckle, your lips brushing the nape of my neck. ‘Lies. I breathe artistically.’ Your hand slides under my shirt, your palm a warm anchor against my skin. I mention rehearsals, the day waiting. You kiss my shoulder, then my temple. ‘I don’t want the day. I want this. You. This sweatshirt you stole from me.’ You press your face into my hair. ‘The way you smell like honey and criminal intent.’ I laugh, sh…