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Breathing

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Nothing calms Arthur like Alfred does.

His warm breath against his cheek.

His heart beating steadily against his chest.

His thumb drawing comforting circles against his shoulder blades.

It eases the tension in Arthur’s shoulders, makes him forget about all his problems (his brothers and the upcoming exams and his mum’s depression), distracts him from life, calms him to the core.

Sleep comes easier, now that Alfred and his radiating warmth are there to soothe him.

Arthur can’t help but close his eyes as Alfred sighs softly against his hair.

He smells like cinnamon and coffee, like Christmas and spice.

Somewhere in their apartment block a piano is playing, it’s a soft and wintery melody.

Arthur inhales, he inhales the spice and the coffee and Alfred, and then, finally, he drifts off.