this one

This morning I woke to a ceiling fan with five blades, whirling industriously around a gold chrome stem. The spot on the ceiling where the fan attaches has a circle of paint around it that is significantly darker than that of the rest of the ceiling. It makes a pleasantly continuous sound of rushing air, the sort of white noise that can lull me to sleep in the space of several heartbeats, at least once I can get far enough from the person lying beside me to reach a normal body temperature. He radiates heat like a nuclear reactor and no matter how cold the night I can feel the beads of perspiration forming on the surface of my skin whenever I'm in close proximity to his body. Of course, not all of it is the tangible heat, there is also still my body's response to him. After all this time the chemistry is still intensely compelling.
His bed is comfortable, though I suspect it of having begun to sag in the middle from being occupied primarily with a solitary individual. It's hard to tell as he has a habit of camping in the center of it even when he has company, I cannot help but roll toward him. It takes a bit of shifting to develop enough counter balance to make myself comfortable next to him. I sleep on my right shoulder too often, with my face turned outward toward the edge of the bed. As I get older that arm is almost perpetually a little sore. I try to lie on my back, but when my left elbow rests beside me, my forearm crooked across my torso the arm tends to fall asleep. So I shift a lot and feel badly for rousing him from his peaceful sleep because he usually does have his bed to himself.
I love it there, in that quiet neighborhood. He has a balcony outside his second floor bedroom, and I can see its outline through the beige linen curtains. His closet doors are almost always open so I can see his rainbow colored collection of quirky and vintage t shirts and the ironing board he seldom uses with its floral print cover and the iron hanging above it on the rack. He recently hung a picture of a dory on the south China sea on the wall opposite his bed, and it too is soothing.
He loves the water. He spent part of his childhood growing up on a boat and the lifestyle, while not perfect contextually, was one that seems to have stuck with him and continues to have appeal. He tells me if he had a boat he would probably leave and not come back. I could see him being happily and resourcefully itinerant but I am glad he is here and does not seem unhappy.
Tonight I will see him again. I don't know if I will get to his house before he does, if I'll need my rainbow colored key copy to get in. Maybe I will be curled up on his couch watching Caprica and munching on animal cookies, or perhaps he'll get there before me and be playing Modern Warfare. We'll probably watch something for a while, obscure or mainstream anime, something offbeat, and then one or the other of us will get sleepy. He sometimes reads in bed while waiting on me, or sometimes I go up first while he plays games until he's tired.
It is pleasant, and ordinary, and unique. It is a thing I always want and never take wholly for granted because it isn't mine and I value it. I think he's used to me now. There is more he wants and it isn't something I have, but I think he feels no sense of urgency about finding what it is he may be after. So there is me for now, and I am content for the most part.