#michaelperry

Now you could come and go as you pleased, something he loved- seeing you curled up on his couch when he got home from a particularly hard day; when you would cook for him after you got off work before heading home, just wanting to make sure he ate a hot meal.

You weren’t quite ready to make that next step, moving in together, so this was the compromise you’d made: exchanging keys to your respective places. 

Santi’s apartment was bigger than yours; more comfortable and lived in, cosy and warm. His big, worn in leather couch was your favorite place to be after a long day and you slowly found yourself over at his more often than not and that’s where you were currently: standing in front of his stove, flipping a grilled cheese.

Your work day had been long, filled with pointless meetings and you craved the touch of your boyfriend. You’d headed straight to Santi’s, letting yourself in and  showered, dressing in your favorite flannel of his and a pair of his boxers and little else before raiding his fridge and dumping the ingredients for a grilled cheese on the counter. 

The turn of the key turns your attention to the door and you grin as your boyfriend shuts the door behind him and finds you, a slow smile finding it’s way across his face.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he greets you, taking long strides to meet you in the kitchen where his arms wrap around your middle, lips finding your neck.

“Let me turn the stove off,” you shoo him off of you, plating your grilled cheese and turning the gas off the stove. 

“You look good,” he comments, fingering the hem of his favorite worn in flannel that hangs off your shoulders and he looks at you, head cocking to the side when he sees you feigning innocence. “I’m never getting this back, am I?”

“Nope,” you reply quickly, taking your plate to the living room and settling into your favorite spot.