Phil

The sun is streaming through the blinds. You're sitting on the bed, legs tucked under you, and Phil is sprawled out in front of you. His T-shirt is hiked up, his heavy head resting on your thighs. He's stroking your red tail, and Oscar the dog is nuzzling you with a red stuffed fish, demanding affection.

You whisper to the dog, but run your hand through his fur. Phil grins, his eyes blazing with tenderness. You lean down, running your fingers through his hair, then lower—his red hair obscuring you from the world. You inhale his scent, lingering over the kiss. His hand settles on the back of your head, pulling you closer.

The dog snorts and rests his head on your shoulder. You burst into laughter, but Phil doesn't let you go—he pulls you to his chest. You fall on top of him, burying your face in his neck, feeling your heartbeat. Your tail curls around his leg. The dog climbs on top of you, getting more comfortable.

There's no time. Just you, him, a loyal dog, and a happiness that doesn't fit in a bed.

Silence passes. You sniffle into his collarbone, and he bites the lobe of your cat ear and whispers: — I love the morning because waking up with you is the best thing that could happen.