You hear the sound of rain pattering against the window softly, distant thunder rumbling in the distance. Rolling over to your side, you smile as your head sinks into the warm pillow, your duvet wrapped around your body. Thomas's shirt feels so soft against your skin; his scent still lingers in the fabric.
You hear your phone buzz on the nightstand. Lifting it up, you sigh.
Another 9 missed calls, and about a hundred texts.
You stubbornly put the phone back down, and kick your feet out of the bed, yawning.
An hour has passed by the time Thomas meets you in the kitchen downstairs. He's wearing sweatpants. That's it. Just a pair of grey sweatpants.
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