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ROYSTON

I woke one morning to the disturbing feeling of pins and needles in my arm. As usual, Hal became my saviour. He did so, this time, simply by shifting in his sleep a bit, resting his hand on my chest. His head was already on my shoulder, which neatly explained away the pins and needles, thus doing the aforementioned saving, this time from my own mind (having sprung to the conclusion, before I was reminded of Hal's presence, that I was getting the much-dreaded pains of age early). Hal has never been a heavy man by any standard, but even a cat will turn you numb eventually, given residence on a limb for too long.
As I shifted my arm slightly, attempting to flex it without dislodging Hal, I became caught in tender memories of the previous night- Hal had been teasing me, counting the grey hairs which had, to my dismay, crept sneakily from their longstanding hold on my temples to colonize my chest, and after a count of about thirteen, had simply fallen asleep. I did try to prevent him from staying up so late reading book after book, but then again, knowing him as I do, my attempt is by far more surprising than its result. Hal always wishes to stay up longer, to learn one more thing, hear one more word, feel one more caress, relish one last embrace before the day is done. It is a habit which I have more affection for than annoyance, and so my attempts to cure him of it are halfhearted at best.
I stared at him a long time. It was enough to simply relish his warmth, to detail the smooth curve of his eyelashes as they rested on his cheek. In moments like these, I could take the time to love each part of him individually. This is an activity ideally suited to mornings, since anything more aerobic tends to set me into a disastrous mood. I like to wake up very slowly. My determination, after carefully examining the delicate tousle of his hair, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the tangle of his bare feet with mine, and many other endearing details, was that my favorite part of him (this morning at least) was the half-smile on his lips, pressed against my shoulder, which I felt more than I saw.
Having done this, I began, slowly and regretfully, to move away, a vague idea in mind of coffee, but Hal mumbled in his sleep and the sweet smile faded, replaced by frown that I simply couldn't bear. I was stuck. My hand came up to cover the one he'd placed on my chest, and the smile returned.
When he awoke, some time later, I could (and did) tell him with certainty that he had two more freckles than last week.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

ROYSTON

I woke one morning to the disturbing feeling of pins and needles in my arm. As usual, Hal became my saviour. He did so, this time, simply by shifting in his sleep a bit, resting his hand on my chest. His head was already on my shoulder, which neatly explained away the pins and needles, thus doing the aforementioned saving, this time from my own mind (having sprung to the conclusion, before I was reminded of Hal's presence, that I was getting the much-dreaded pains of age early). Hal has never been a heavy man by any standard, but even a cat will turn you numb eventually, given residence on a limb for too long.
As I shifted my arm slightly, attempting to flex it without dislodging Hal, I became caught in tender memories of the previous night- Hal had been teasing me, counting the grey hairs which had, to my dismay, crept sneakily from their longstanding hold on my temples to colonize my chest, and after a count of about thirteen, had simply fallen asleep. I did try to prevent him from staying up so late reading book after book, but then again, knowing him as I do, my attempt is by far more surprising than its result. Hal always wishes to stay up longer, to learn one more thing, hear one more word, feel one more caress, relish one last embrace before the day is done. It is a habit which I have more affection for than annoyance, and so my attempts to cure him of it are halfhearted at best.
I stared at him a long time. It was enough to simply relish his warmth, to detail the smooth curve of his eyelashes as they rested on his cheek. In moments like these, I could take the time to love each part of him individually. This is an activity ideally suited to mornings, since anything more aerobic tends to set me into a disastrous mood. I like to wake up very slowly. My determination, after carefully examining the delicate tousle of his hair, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the tangle of his bare feet with mine, and many other endearing details, was that my favorite part of him (this morning at least) was the half-smile on his lips, pressed against my shoulder, which I felt more than I saw.
Having done this, I began, slowly and regretfully, to move away, a vague idea in mind of coffee, but Hal mumbled in his sleep and the sweet smile faded, replaced by frown that I simply couldn't bear. I was stuck. My hand came up to cover the one he'd placed on my chest, and the smile returned.
When he awoke, some time later, I could (and did) tell him with certainty that he had two more freckles than last week.