It’s his bed sheets. The way they feel on your skin. There the right amount of slack so you can grab them in your hands. There also the right amount of tightness that they don't get all crumpled under you leaving wrinkle marks along your skin. His bed has become home for you. Especially in the last week. You know you should be in your own bed, alone. But that’s just it. He’s not in it. The way the mattress moves under his weight when he rolls over to pull you close into his chest. It’s heaven. Even when you can bearly take the heat of the blankets mixed with his radiating body heat. You would still rather lay there sweaty with your body's draped together then be alone.
“You’re my home. You know that right? Where you go. I go.”