Here lies the second installment.
His routine is unshakable by anyone that isn't me.
I was surprised to learn that he had one— or rather a few. The first few times I was around long enough to witness these phenomena, there was this confidence in me that told me he was doing what he was doing because I was there, because I was special. Perhaps because he felt it necessary to impress me.
The fact is, he does these things for himself. There was a time when we weren't as involved in each other's lives as we had been in some of our more formative years. During this time, or so I've come to gather, he developed certain skills to tarry away the day. A set list of distractions.
It goes like so:
On a weekday, he'll rise anywhere between six and ten in the morning, dependent upon when his shift at the veterinary clinic and boarding service begins. Upon arrival he'll rub his wrists behind his ears, spreading some of his natural pheromones into an area animals are more likely to accept (that's another thing I suppose you'll be wondering about— the pheromones). He opts not to wash his hands as the scent of the sanitizer tends to offend the felines.
Then, he'll spend at least a few minutes with each animal after he's fed them. He strokes them, says there name in ways I wish he would say mine, tells them how kind they are, that they're a good boy or girl. Somewhat like Santa Claus, in his way, but the gift is a guarantee that every day they would be fed, loved, and paid proper attention by someone constant in their short lives.
Except for Tuesday mornings, when he has a recurring appointment that he refuses to go into details over. It bothers me, I won't lie, but he can have his own business.
When our classes align, he'll either buy me a tea or I'll buy him a coffee (dark roast with plenty of non-dairy caramel creamer). He's progressive and so am I, so we believe it's better for both of us to take turns paying when we do things together. We'll sit on a bench and split the college newspaper, if it's out. He gets to read the comics first. I check out the events page for details on public speakers. Then we'll trade.
After we take lunch separately, we'll meet at the clocktower in the center of campus and I'll walk with him to his tutoring appointment. Math is not his strong suit, I'm afraid. He keeps his headphones in for the entire duration of the journey and we don't carry any conversation. There's a certain headspace he must be in before he can be patient and receptive to learning about something that frustrates him to no end.
We may or may not see each other at dinner. Usually not during the week as it's important for us to maintain our friendships outside of each other.
There is a strict agreement in place that we do not have… overnights at each other's rooms during the week.
I've said it before, however it bears repeating: higher education is no joke. I learned the hard way and so did he.
It's a somewhat different story on weekends. He still rises early, in my opinion. He adamantly refuses to sleep in any later than noon or he feels he's lost his entire day. He'll roll over and grab his pipe. My boyfriend smokes plants. Ones that were recently legalized in our area as well as a medley of smokeable herbs. He lights a stick of incense, rolls out a yoga mat in the morning light streaming onto his rug, and dedicates 15 minutes to simply stretching before he takes a shower.
Being fully clothed is not his foremost concern when in his own home, so he'll quietly pull out his easel, set it up by the window, and sit on his stool to paint. Naked.
My boyfriend paints naked, and he's a fairly decent artist to boot. He listens to soft, acoustic music, and as he air-dries, he creates tragically beautiful landscapes. Storms, wildfires, hurricanes, tornados, tsunamis, deserts…
I'm not sure he knows that I'm aware of his art. As I mentioned, I consider rising before noon to be on the early side. He says I'm bourgeois with a simpleton for a partner, a queen who will rise early for no one, not even her pauper.
Except I will. He just doesn't notice. And I don't want him to notice. I burrow in the blankets on days like this, just to see his expression and how he moves when he's creating.
There are a few things he enjoys while I'm asleep, but I wouldn't want to shock you. I suppose a more innocent admission would be about the sniffing. After he's effectively hidden and tucked away his work, he'll shimmy back into bed with me. He'll trace his fingers up and down my arm, toy with my fingers for a moment, all the while darting looks at my face to confirm I'm still asleep. Leaning in close, he'll lay his head on my shoulder and twine his fingers into my hair to give a very gentle sniff.
A snuffle, really.
He'll chuff very softly, a slight smile always pulls at the corner of his mouth, and with his eyes closed, he'll lay by me , listening to my heartbeat until I "wake up".
Some days, it takes all I have not to become a sleeping beauty if only to revel in small moments like these.
I hope one day I can forgive myself for ever thinking him smaller than he is. He is great. A phenomena all his own.
I wish other people were capable of seeing his humanity—our humanity. There is such an emphasis on his innate animal instincts by people outside of our lives. It makes him feel cheap. Lesser. He's a great man. I mean that.
A/N| Refraining from getting schmaltzy on you proved harder than I thought. As always, I appreciate all constructive criticism!