Creaking, a rocking chair sways back and forth. Squeaking, it rolls more upon the deep hazel floor beneath. Scratching, the chair halts to two dirtied sneakers. the man stands, back crackling to the whim of age. He stands at the window observing the thick black clouds encroaching slowly. Wrinkles soften his expression, revealing his preoccupied gloomy thoughts.

His eyes then lay on his husband, gently absorbing him. lying on a pink, flower adorned couch, his husband rests taking occasional deep breaths through his snoring gape. A fond smile opens on the mans face, folding creases on his cheeks, as he hikes to the kitchen.

Taking only one stride at a time, he opens the cutlery drawer, drawing a thick metal knife. A clattering of rain shaves the rambling silence away. Reacting, the man jumps for a moment before resting the knife on the marble island in the midst of the kitchen. He looks over to the couch quickly. The snoring continues after a lingering pause. Relieved, the man turns to the fridge and heaves it open.

Thunder rumbles on just as the man opens the fridge. Lying inside is a singular ripe tomato. The mans frown echos around his face, sagging his cheeks. His tired eyes close wishing for more then received. He closes the fridge, returning the knife as well, and bumbles back into the rocking chair.

He sits creaking, squeaking, and scratching while the storm envelopes the solemn room.