We were cleaning up the kitchen together--- or rather, I was cleaning up the kitchen and he was kind of just standing in the middle of the kitchen, eating an apple and being generally bothersome, and it just made me really happy. Like, it just feels... right to have him in the kitchen with me while I'm washing things up, making me laugh while I'm washing my mug labeled "Dad" (Dad is me... we joke in my apartment that I'm the dad 'cuz I'm always making bad jokes and fixing the toilets and putting together the electronics). It kind of just feels right to have him sitting across the room reading a book while I'm writing, him in a giant easy chair with his shoes kicked off onto the floor and me curled up in a worn-out old couch. It feels right to have the new spring breeze blow in, the breeze that smells like people should be falling in love. It feels right to briefly lean up against his leg as I turn on the light for him so he can see what he's reading better. It feels right to have him across the room making stupid noises and humming taps so that his voice cracks and I am literally laughing so hard my body hurts. He's weird and stupid and... right. He makes the thing inside me that usually panics and freaks out and is a very sad part of me... he makes it okay. He makes it not so dark. And I'll be more logical in a bit, and I'll get a better handle on my emotions, but right now I'm just really happy with him sitting across the room making weird faces at me and making strange noises and making me smile.