He slept during most of the day. Occasionally waking up to have a drink or grab something to eat. Not really something, but the same thing. He'd always eat the same thing. He would stretch himself with laziness, but elegance. Walk towards the kitchen slowly, silently. He would then, take a sip, grab a bite and go back to sleep. Sometimes on the bed, sometimes in the living room, on the couch. He'd go there, to the living room, when looking for little naps, when the noise of her typing would not upset his sleep.
From time to time, she would startle him a little, when placing her cup on the glass table, pushing a chair or letting a pen fall on the ground. He would look at her with his big bright green eyes and give her a fixed stare. Few minutes later he would go back to sleep again. He would spend his days like this, confined, practically static. While awake, he'd be either eating, looking at her or gazing through the window. He rarely uttered a sound. Her life, on the other hand, was full of comings and goings, ups and downs, different interests and possibilities, anguish and laughter, dreams and frustrations. They had nothing in common, but she came back to him, every day. He kept her company.
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