Something warm and fuzzy.

There's something about living abroad thousands of miles away from home, just the two of you - just him, and you. 

It can be pretty lonely, it can seem like an endless journey with no definite destination, and at times, it can be really frustrating. 

But it's mostly amazing. The love that you have for each other, is a different kind of love. It's the tenderness, the affection, the morning snuggles on a frosty Sunday morning when you have to work for a 13-hour shift, knowing full well that none of us really wants to do that. 

It's knowing that we're in this together, lonely or not. Alone, we can be lonely together, can't we?

Adam was about to snuggle up to me one night, when I suddenly shoved a bolster into him and turned the other way. I was half-asleep (with somehow very good reflex) so of course I didn't remember anything. 

So when he told me this the next morning, we laughed. He even acted out the whole thing again - there we were, two perfectly grown adults on a foreign land far far away from home - jumping in bed, re-enacting the scene that wouldn't even mean much to others. But at that moment, at that very moment, it felt like we belong here. We belong together, and that's all that matters.

It's just warmth and fuzziness. 

I have a habit of tickling his feet in the morning when they stick out of the duvet (he's just got really long legs!), and he would shuffle, sometimes even wiggle his toes, half-asleep. 

The same as how he likes to snuggle up to me at night, and hold me close when I'm asleep. I don't think he even realises doing it, especially in the middle of the night - I'm a light sleeper, he's the complete opposite, totally comatosed. Still, he'd give me soft pats as if trying to put me back to sleep.

(Basically we really like each other when one of us is asleep.)

I suppose that's the thing about the togetherness in us. Lonely or not, we're in this, together. 

Always.