How was work? I ask. He shrugs and 2 lines form at the centre of his brow. I smile, barely noticeable though, because I knew he would suppose I found pleasure in his vexation. I didn’t. I took pleasure in knowing exactly what his little gestures meant and this one meant that he was about to tell me every nuanced detail of his troubled day. We had gotten to the phase where our actions were a tell all, and words were hardly needed. To some, that may seem trite but to me, it was reassuring.
True to form, he sighs and harps on about his workday while he takes a sip of his now tepid tea and furrow his brows. In the same breath, he sticks out the hand holding the teacup where I am positioned to pour him some hot water. Clockwork. I’m sorry you had such a rough day, I say when he's done. I really mean, I wish there were something I could do to make it better.
He smiles at me and nestles his free hand around my waist, “But then I came home to you”.