She was sitting down in the middle of the room, onto the pink, furry rug, in front of the TV, with nothing but a bowl of ice cream and a box of tissues, watching on her now favourite drama. It was almost midnight but she couldn’t sleep and so she decided to wait for her man to be home instead.

He only could shake his head in amusement once he spotted her in that position, too immersed within the emotion to notice his presence. As he glanced over at her spot, he frowned a bit before swiftly went inside their room to prepare himself for bed. Done with his routine, he was out again but this time into the kitchen.

Fetching up her glass of milk, he went to her place, kissed her bared-skin shoulder, startling her position, before shoving off the glass into her sight, “Oh, you’re home?” Nodding up his head lethargically, he eyed the milk in his and, signalling her to drink it up while for her to eye the white liquid in disgust, “Can’t I skip it tonight?”

“Nope, ice cream and the tissue box? Happy much?”

“Very,” she drank the milk lazily, “But not anymore, I hate you.”