Easy like shockingly similar political opinions that Waylon sums up as “ain’t got no problem with that,” “vote for the lesser evil,” and “don’t bother with the news, cuz it will just piss you off.”

Easy like picnics by the pond in September because it will get too cold to eat outside soon. Him dressing up as an archangel and me dressing up as a devil for all the Halloween parties in October because why not? Slow, passionate sex in front of the fire in November because not everything has to be a lesson, and it’s nice to feel cozy and warm while Waylon’s inside of me.

Easy like talking openly and freely to Waylon about anything on my mind. From concerning cases to furniture, he always gives me his full attention. And we end up having some deeper than expected conversations in the pitch-black of the dream house’s bedroom.

That’s where he tells me a less vague version of his bad foster house experience and admits that he has nightmares about it sometimes, which makes him feel weak. And I confess that I’m scared that all my needs and wants are permanent cracks in my character that I’ll never be able to fix because of the way I grew up.

I tell him that starting to process his stuff and talking about it out loud actually makes him stronger and braver in my eyes. And he tells me that my cracks are his favorite thing about me. “I wanted to claim you and turns out you secretly wanted to be claimed. We’re perfect together, angel. Like I’m always telling you….”

“This is where we’re supposed to be,” I call out before he can. Then I collapse into laughter when he tickles me for stepping on his favorite tagline.

Easy like that.

“I’m going to miss you,” I realize out loud the first Friday in November, the evening before he’s due to leave out on a three-day trip.

He doesn’t leave town often anymore. Since the beginning of the construction project, he’s been training a few of the compound-side Reapers to take on what he calls the high-level devil shit. Vengeance stops by the house a lot. Their club names are actually Hyena, Vampire, and Desert Eagle—D.E. for short. And not going to lie, I feel incredibly proud of myself for semi-guessing two out of three.

But every once in a while, Waylon himself has to attend an in-person meeting with people he usually refers to by their state and crime affiliation. Like, “Rhode Island Triad,” or “North Carolina Mafia,” or “Texas Cartel.”

Usually, he takes me straight to the bedroom as soon as he gets back. I already know from previous experience that I’ll be going into the clinic sleepy and sore on Tuesday morning because he’ll keep me up all night when he returns home on Monday.