We were sitting in my living room, watching TV, and my head was on his lap. The show wasn't all that good, but it was the only one worth watching. At some point, I'll probably say to turn the TV off and tell him let's go learn a new recipe or something but I doubt he would want to leave. He liked it when I was rested on his lap-he thought that it would tell the world that I was his and only his.

And I liked being owned by him. He was special to me in ways I could and couldn't understand myself.

When the show finished, I took the remote out of his hand and turned off the TV. "Don't you want to see if something else is on now?" he asked me.

"No," I said. "I hate searching through channels like that. Do you want to learn a new recipe?" He's gotten better at his cooking now that I've tended to him.

He snorted. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're bossy-I can't think straight when you're in the kitchen."

"Yeah," I scoffed. "You can't think while you're cooking because you're too busy trying to steal a kiss from me."

He rolled his eyes, threw his arms up in surrender, and smirked at me. "You caught me."

"You bet I did." He lowered his arms and started to play with my hair. He loved to do that. He said it reminded him of a soft swirly candy he had when he was younger but can never seem to find again.

He leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the nose, then on the mouth. "I stole another." He whispered. "Am I going to get arrested?"

I shrugged, smiling. "Possibly." When I raised myself to kiss him again, I remembered everything that we-and our friends-went through to get to this point in our lives.

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