My Kind Of Man 🥀

14 - a lazy yet cozy sunday 💕

10:13 AM

It's raining harder now.

Like that cozy, rhythmic rain that makes everything feel like a lullaby.
The windows are fogged up, the world outside is gray, but in here?
It's just you and him. And the kind of silence that feels sacred.

He turns the lights off.
Throws a big blanket over the both of you.
Movie still playing.
Your legs tangled. Your fingers tucked into his sleeve like a habit.

"Wanna stay in bed until dinner?" he asks.

"No," you say. "Wanna stay here until next Sunday."

He kisses your forehead again. And you just... stay.

12:30 PM

He disappears for five minutes.
You yell from the bed:

"IF YOU ABANDON ME IN THIS WEATHER—"

But then he returns.
Holding a plate of chocolate croissants. And two glasses of warm vanilla milk. And a tiny fork.

"Brunch in bed, my queen."

You roll your eyes.

"You're so dramatic."

"Yeah, but you're fed, aren't you?"

You let him feed you the first bite. He wipes the chocolate from your lip. And kisses the spot.

2:00 PM

You both finally get up. Like barely.
You brush your teeth together. Still wearing his hoodie. Still teasing each other with foam on your lips.
You sit on the bathroom counter while he washes his face.

And when he catches you staring?

"What?" he grins.

"Nothing. Just wondering if I'll ever stop being obsessed with you."

He walks over, leans between your legs, and whispers:

"Hope not."

3:30 PM

You're both back in bed.
But this time... with books.

You're reading some dreamy novel, he's lying across the bottom of the bed, head on your lap, sketching something in his notebook.

Every now and then, you run your fingers through his hair. He hums. Scribbles. Hums again.

"Wanna see what I drew?"

"Is it me again?"

"Duh. You're the only thing worth drawing."

5:00 PM

You both try to do something productive.

He pulls out his laptop. You open yours. You both last 11 minutes.
Then he's crawling over to you, closing your screen, and going:

"Okay work is cancelled. You're too cute for deadlines."

"I hate you."

"You LOVE me."

"Unfortunately."

You both fall back onto the bed laughing. He lands half on top of you. And doesn't move.

7:00 PM

He drags you into the kitchen.
Both of you barefoot. Both in sweats now.
The rain's still going. He's playing music — soft, jazzy, something romantic and too much for a regular Sunday.

You cook together. Kind of.

More like: you taste everything, and he burns the garlic, and then you both give up and make butter pasta and salad.

But it's perfect.

You eat at the counter. No phones. Just laughter. Shared bites. His foot brushing yours under the table.

9:00 PM

Back to bed.

You're curled up under the covers. He puts on another movie, this one you actually like.
He spoons you from behind, his chin on your shoulder, his fingers intertwined with yours.

Halfway through, he whispers:

"Can I say something?"

"Of course."

"Today felt like a life I never thought I'd get to have."

You twist to face him, eyes soft.

"You mean this?"

"No. I mean you."

11:00 PM

You're under the covers, lights off, rain slowing outside.

His arm is draped over your waist, your legs tangled again, foreheads almost touching.

Right before you fall asleep, he whispers:

"You ruined me for everyone else."

You smile into the dark.

"Good."

He kisses your cheek.

"Same time next Sunday?"

"Every Sunday."

"And every day in between."