An idiosyncrasy revealed.

6pm on a muggy Saturday afternoon.

A lazy couple have just woken up from a hazy salt-coated nap. She quietly stretches, sits upright, and as soon as her peripheral vision spots him put his feet on the carpet, she proceeds to fix their bed.

He looks at her quizzically as she fluffs the pillows, flattens out the creases, and returns the quilt to pristine condition.

“You know we’re going to just sleep on it again in a few hours,” he laughs.

Even though she knew it escaped logic to say, she told him something she’d never vocalised but always knew to be true,

“Unmade beds make me sad.”

He paused for a bit, chewed on her sentence, and quietly answered, “I understand what you mean.”

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