"be intimate with me."

  he knew she would never, had never, grown accustomed   to his presence in her flat, but, rather impressively, she’d   made a point of… well, not constantly harassing him   about it. instead, irene seemed to relax after three weeks   of cohabitation, and he was happy. he made her breakfast   most mornings ( after at least three tries; after mostly   burning everything he touched ) and got her paper from   the stoop. he cleaned and dusted when she was out and   called to check in on her around lunchtime. he wiped her  cheeks if she cried; he brushed her hair for the fun of it;   he kissed her head when she got home and always   brushed loose strands of hair from her face.

  living together… wasn’t as bad as they’d thought it be. 

  it was nice.