Something I wrote at three in the morning, enjoy!
I missed having you in my bed.
I’d gotten used to it you see, the feeling of a body against mine, hearing your heart beat, strong, steady, it regulated me. Everything about you became familiar, the feel of your back as I traced it when you were half asleep, and the way you tickled my toes in the morning to wake me up, making me giggle. I used to do all of those secret things when you were in one of your especially deep slumbers, little things, like twining my fingers around your golden hair, nudging you over to the other side of the bed so I could fully stretch out. I always felt contrite when you raised your head, startled because I’d pushed you too far. I took it all for granted, so now it felt so much more painful when you slept downstairs and I was alone.
I sometimes think if we’d been more careful then she wouldn’t have caught us. If maybe I’d straightened out the covers, or taken your bowl of water downstairs then it would have looked like my single bed had slept one. But I think we always knew it was inevitable, getting caught, I think that was the fun of it, the risk.
I still remember the moment she found us, in bed together. The look of sheer disapproval on her face made me nervous, but you played it so cool, not even flinching when she stared you down, locked you out of the house for a whole hour. It was the longest you had ever been out alone. You just stayed, staring up at me from the garden through the clematis bush, locking those great almond eyes with mine.
It made me feel even guiltier, because I’d left my door open on purpose. I knew you would come in but I did it anyway because I secretly liked it, even though I would pretend to grumble when you first slid under the covers. I liked the way you would snuggle into my arms at ridiculously early hours, because the morning was frosty and cold.
It’s why you're up here now, because it’s a chilly night, well below zero, and I couldn’t stand the thought of either of us being cold. I let a hand gently stroke your caramel blond hair, it’s soft and has a gentle feel to my fingers. I know soon we will both be fast asleep.
Suddenly a stream of light floods into the room, making us both jump up.
The sour face of my overtired mother appears in the doorway, she huffs out a groan and pulls a hand through a tangle of dyed curls “Oh for god sake Izzy, take the darn dog downstairs!”
You whine softly, we’ve been caught.
Okay this should probably be in non fiction. Yes, my dog so sleeps in my bed. I am cool.
Also, for the last comma, I suggest you take it out and put a 
That was really clever. 
*stars*
But I did find one other little mistake.
