Music is playing again. I'm lying on the bed, tangled in sheets in an awkward position one can only hope to achieve during sleep. As long as I don't open my eyes, I don't have to accept the fact I'm awake. I can lie there forever, breathing in the scent of something or someone very feminine beside me. My brain slowly makes the connections between the soft body under my arm and the lovely smell coming from the said soft thing, and I open my eyes.
You are awake as well, although your eyes are closed. You appear to be listening to the music intently, and for a glorious moment, we stay like that, aware of each other's wakefulness, yet not wanting to break the spell. Then the song finishes, and you smile, wriggling from beneath my grip like a worm. I try to recapture you, but we land, breathless, on the floor in a heap of bedding.
'It's time for breakfast.' You announce and leap to your feet effortlessly. It is a sharp reminder of your youth whenever you do that. I am older and full of creaky bones that take time and care to get into a standing position. Once I have accomplished this, I get dressed and eventually follow you into the kitchen at a slow pace.
Bacon, eggs, butter and bread are laid out on the counter, and soon a frying pan is on the stove and heating up. You break the eggs and nudge them into acceptable positions on the pan. The bacon hits the thin layer of hot butter with a sizzle, releasing mouth-watering smells. I sniff after them wolfishly, and you sneak a look. Another grin, then you return to your cooking.
'Be a good boy and put on the toast?' You say in a way that makes me wonder if it was an order or a request. I decide to go ahead and start making toast just in case.
We cook silently after that. It isn't the sort of silence that makes you uncomfortable. It is the sort of silence that makes you feel happy that you can have times when you don't need to talk to enjoy one another's company. I slowly begin to wake up and decide that coffee is in order. I boil the water and then return to the toasted bits of bread that needs buttering.
Soon the meal is finished and we are carrying it over to the table. Both our morning papers have arrived, a true mark of how much knowledge the newspaper people have, and we settle down to eat, drink, read and talk. I was worried it might be excruciatingly embarrassing, but there is a feeling of beginnings. This feels like a fresh start.
I watch you bite into a piece of toast loaded with eggs, and imagine seeing the same scene every day at the breakfast table. The image comes almost naturally, so I smile into my coffee cup. I was hoping and praying that you would come around in the end, and you did, so now I am allowed to have my dreams of morning discussions and eggs and toast.
The rain stopped some time last night, and now the clouds only cover a portion of the sky. The clear part is sunny and promises to be a lovely day. 'Let's go out.' I declare, dropping the forkful of food back on to the plate. You look at me with a raised eyebrow.
'We haven't finished breakfast yet.' You mention in a matter-of-fact way.
'Really? Oh well. We can get some out there.' I stand up and hold out my hand for you.
Your brown eyes flick to my face, and you smile once again. You put your hand in mine and I pull you to your feet. We walk out of the apartment, barely remembering to shut the door, then make far too much noise going down the stairs.
It is early, and shops are only just beginning to open. We find a café and order coffee and muffins, which we eat outside next to the street. The puddles from the storm last night were just as I had hoped they would be, and I regret the fact I am too old to jump in them.
Once the coffee is drunk and the muffins devoured, you lightly brush my hand with your delicate fingers and then kiss me softly. It's a lovely way to start a morning, and an even better way to start a life with you.
Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who reviewed. You rock. I wrote this ages ago and found it last night. Please tell me what you think :)