The next morning strides through the glass, touching up my face like an unwelcome guest.
"So… I have two questions for you."
A voice wavers from the window, two lanky arms separating the curtains with no regard, allowing the light to burn my soul.
"First off, why are you naked?
Second—
Why are you drooling on the book?"
I don't respond.
Is he an angel?
My eyes half-open as I try to restore my sight, blurred by litres of sleep.
"And bonus third question…"
I feel something dislodge from my grasp and being placed beside me.
"why are you cuddling it?"
Silence.
Snores.
"Seazon?" He says, prodding my arm like an impatient toddler.
If it's not obvious, no one tends to see this side of me.
Guys never usually stay all the way until morning.
That would require more money than they're willing to let out.
Unfortunately for them.
I'm a ray of sunshine in the morning.
"Dissect me all you want, doctor, I'm not telling you shit!" I yell, ridiculously delirious, 7am knocking me full force.
He presses against his temple with his wrist, accepting temporary defeat as he walks towards the kettle.
"Tea?" He questions, bending down to study my face, hands on hips.
"Fine, okay!" I babble, my speech not fully computing.
He jumps a couple steps back, gazing down to the pink glittery scrunchie that confides on his wrist still and smiling.
He stops.
Hesitant.
"Oh crap, must've missed this bit."
I can just about make out his voice now. At least enough to decide I want to see whatever's going down.
He parks himself by the counter, slapping on the kettle while lifting his foot, flicking at an unfortunate piece of dried dog shit.
Bless it. Must've been stranded in the mess of everything that went down.
He catches his composure. The light from the boil turning his skin a deep blue.
I shout over to him, hands tunnelling my voice.
"I always sleep naked."
He slips, clinging to the kettle to keep him upright, evidently startled by my ability to talk back.
We lock eyes, just in time for him to observe me separating my lips.
The lips that had been sealed together by dried, summer drool.
"You don't sleep nakey too?" I say, polishing my face.
"I do not." He chuckles, squinting as he gawks at me.
"You're missing out." I croak, straining.
"I find the breeze lovely in the morning." My arms stretching above my head, toes dangling from the bed.
My leg.
"Shit." I groan, shuddering as I retract back into a fragile, nude ball.
Back to my roots, I suppose.
"Got me feeling like I've just been born." I say, muffled against the pillow.
"Good morning to you too," I whisper, viewing my leg from my peripheral.
Lucas stands there, sort of like a proud mum. Watching me.
His hands.
The clanking of the cups.
It's quite a nice sound once you've been exposed to it so many times.
Reminds me of that ASMR crap.
He stands on his tiptoes, reaching for that same mug I drank from yesterday.
When did he have the time to clean it out? Perhaps he actually is proactive.
I watch him use one teabag for two cups of tea and sigh.
"Maybe too proactive."
Before I can process my leg pain I'm met with a stiff.
This damn book, again?
Covered in my nightly spit.
"Told you to sleep on your other daddy's side of the bed, didn't I?"
Lucas pulls his fringe up as if it were a cap, peering towards me below it.
"What did you say, Seazon?" He calls out, clutching one tea in each hand.
It's so nuanced, yet enhanced once you pick up on it.
His hands aren't shaking anymore.
I genuinely thought he had a condition for a hot minute there, but I suppose he's like me.
He's got the trauma shakes.
In other words, more poetic words—
his nervous system's fucked.
"Thanks, dear." I sprout, my voice a few notes higher.
I'm in his bed, crack exposed, being waited on by a… semi-alright looking guy.
It really does feel like some posh hookup.
Seriously. He's makin' my services look like Helen Keller discovering sex for the first time.
"Two hands, please." He insists, guiding four fingers to support the bottom and four fingers to support the handle, positioning them into what I presume he considers a 'comfortable grip'.
"Don't worry, I won't hurt your babies." I remark, inhaling the warm steam that waltzes above the tea.
"You better not." He yells, echoing from the kitchen.
He's gained some attitude. That or… perhaps he's just stopped suppressing it.
"If it's any consolation, they were my dead mum's. No dropping." He demands, as if he's training an unleashed dog.
I gulp on the air that huddles between my teeth, scooching against the wall to sip.
I observe the liquid, bracing my tiny reflection for my first real day, praying it'll act accordingly this time.
The dead mum card is truly the strongest card in the game.
It always works. Every single time. Without risk.
Honestly, I yearn to pull it myself—
but then again, there's no guarantee my mum's actually dead out there.
He leans his hand on the counter, sinking his chin into his palm, a ray of sun hitting his hair, creating a golden glow.
In this light, I must admit.
I shrug, lowering my head, hair closing like curtains while a smile melts onto my face.
"He really is quite beautiful." I state beneath my breath. It was so soft, impossible for the ears to hear, and yet… for a split second, I swear I saw his eyes turn towards me.
I see his back expand then soften, walking two fingers to the edge of the counter before halting.
He gathers his composure, his irises glowing by the order of the sun as he looks to me.
"We're going to read it today.
The book.
Let's do this together."