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     Several hours later, the smell of something wonderful cooking in the other room raises you from your cloud nine catnap.  Ristain isn't lying next to you anymore.  You smile at the crumpled pile of disheveled sheets and blankets.  You grab the long sleeved painting shirt and pull it around you.  Still a little wobbly on your feet, you make your way to the kitchen,  


"Good morning, sunshine" He chides with one arm outstretched, inviting you to join him. 


You grin like a schoolgirl and nestle underneath his arm.  


"Thought you might be about ready for something to eat.  We forgot to eat lunch" He says with a smirk while he stirs the pot on the stove.  "Spaghetti work for you?" He asks.


You nod your head, still unable to form words.  


     The two of you spend the rest of the evening in front of the fireplace on the painting canvas, eating spaghetti and sharing friendly banter about friends, family and lives up until now.  Its a wonderful warm night.  You had forgotten how nice it was to spend your time with someone, although this already seems more than just time with another warm body.  You feel as though you have known him your whole life, although you dare not let on how attached you are already becoming.  He opens up to you, telling you every detail and you hang on each word, wanting to remember every factor that makes him, him.  



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