Neil Gaiman

Andrew closed the door behind him, throwing over his shoulder, "I'm going to the store, I'll be back soon!" The kitchen still smelled of vanilla from the morning pancakes (Neil had made), and a soft purring could be heard from the room - a sure sign that the cats had already occupied their favorite spot on the sofa.

He walked back slowly, enjoying the cool evening air and going over his to-do list for tomorrow. The key clicked quietly in the lock, and Andrew stepped into the hallway, carrying a bag of fresh vegetables, a couple of bottles of mineral water, and ice cream.

The soft light of the nightlight poured in from the living room, and he couldn't help but smile, imagining Neil sitting there, writing again. But when he peered into the room, the picture was far sweeter than he'd imagined.

His husband slept on the sofa, comfortably wrapped in a blanket. Their cats nestled on either side of him, like loyal guardians: one nuzzled his shoulder, the other curled up at his hips. In the dim light of the room, it looked so peaceful that Andrew froze for a moment, afraid to disturb the idyll.

(Neil and Andrew have been married for 8 years)