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"I can't believe you bought this," you say, nuzzling closer to Jean, "but the worst of all is that it's really fucking comfy."
Jean doesn't reply, just chuckles, and the low rumble of his laughter sends a pleasant chill down your spine.
This feels like home.
"It does, doesn't it?"
Oh. You said that out loud.
Hiding your face in his stupidly soft sweater, you reply.
"Yeah. You, me, the pompompurin couch. Silly, but comfy."
Jean runs his fingers through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. You let out a pleasant hum at that, inching closer to him.
"A bit odd but that's also how I feel about our relationship."
He stops petting your hair.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well," you shuffle back to look him in the eye, "it's you and me, being silly together, but ultimately comfortable around each other."
Jean resumes the petting.
"I guess you're right."
"Of course. I'm always right."
Jean laughs lightly, then cups your face tenderly.
"You always are."
He presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, and in that moment you feel so comfortable, loved, safe. You loop your arms around his neck, and he lowers his arms to wrap around your waist.
When he parts, you both smile against each other's lips, hazy with happiness.
"Jean?"
"Yeah, love?"
"We're sleeping here tonight."
A soft chuckle leaves his lips.
"Of course, darling."