Just a little something for the holidays.
We watch each other, like always.
He moves slower than usual tonight, dragging his feet across the floor. I can hear the soft slide of his feet as he passes from his closet to his bed, his white Hanes socks against the unremarkable apartment carpet, his fuzzy shadow gliding around the room in the ambient lamplight. It had been a private lullaby since we'd moved in, since I'd first watched him
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