Boyfriend isn’t the type of guy to talk much about anything, especially emotions. It drives me nuts, because I love to talk about everything, especially emotions.
I’ve been under some specific stress lately, and whenever I’m under this particular stress, I seem to have developed the habit of waking up between three and four in the morning and laying there with my mind churning, unable to fall back asleep until much later, if at all.
This morning was no exception, and I whiled away the hours of four, and then five, into six, with episodes of House on Netflix. He had to be at work early, so I crawled back into our bed. I wrapped my arms around him and promptly started crying.
You know how trying to cry quietly, pretending you’re not actually crying, trying to swallow those sobs only makes it worse? Yep. That.
He rolled onto his back, asked me what was wrong, which made me cry harder, and then reached for me, said, “Come here,” and pulled me into his shoulder. I didn’t realize how desperately I was holding on until I unclenched my fingers.
I sniffled to him how much I love him and that I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have him.
“You don’t ever have to worry about that,” he whispered.
Sometimes he just hits it out of the park with boyfriend awesomeness, which is magical when I need it so much.