Southern California Decembers are subtle. The air is cooler, and somehow, fresher. During the day, the sun is there to allow for short sleeves and skirts, but once it sets around 5 o'clock, a light jacket is often required to keep comfortable. Tonight, I've chosen my favorite oversized sweater. It's navy blue and drapes all the way down past my knees, which I enjoy. There's just something oddly soothing about wearing clothes that swallow me whole.

I sit with my legs crossed at the end of the couch. My sweater is positioned over my thighs, I do this purposely to cover the unwanted cellulite that surrounds my thighs. Across from me, he stands above the chaise sectional of the sofa. His hair is muffled out of place, just how I like it, with the front piece accidentally curling over his forehead. He's wearing his grey plaid, the buttons secured all the way to the top. Normally, I prefer him to keep the top button loose, but tonight I don't complain. He looks handsome.

I watch silently, as he unfolds blankets and drapes them over the chaise. Then, he replaces the couch cushions with feather pillows, creating the illusion of a bed. It's the best he can do for tonight because there is no actual bed for us. But, we have become accustomed to this. The packing. The unpacking. Sleeping here. Sleeping there. Home is now just an idea floating in the air above our heads. Unreachable.

I am luckier than he is, I suppose. If I wanted to, I could sleep in an actual bed tonight for when I fled to college, my parents left my room somewhat untouched. He, however, lost his bedroom to his younger sister after he moved away for college. Now, he has only the couch in his mother's house.

Aggressively, he fluffs the flat pillows as best he can before takes a step back to glance at tonight's sleeping arrangements. He places his hands on his hips, firmly. A pretend smile appears on his tired face and he lets out a sigh that stings my ears. I can read him well. He's thinking what I am thinking, that we are lost.

It's an indescribable feeling of being an alien in a place that is supposed to be familiar. Being home, but not feeling at home. I never realized it was possible to be homeless with a roof over my head.

Tomorrow, I will pack up again and go back to university, where I have another lonely bed waiting for me. The thought creates a knot in my stomach. I wonder if he ever feels the same anxiety I do about going back to school as I do.

I glance at him as he removes his grey plaid and climbs under our couch bed. He's tired. I am too. He looks up at me and his smile returns, this time genuine. I feel the knots in my stomach loosen. He is my one constant.

As I join him under the covers, I am embraced by the feeling of love. He places a warm hand on my cheek and we stare at each other, silently. I have roofs here and there, all of which are just buildings. But, tonight, in his stare, I find just what I've been missing. Home.