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Hazy mornings, delicate clouds, the soft honey sheet that coats the Earth as the sun peeks over the horizon; all things that bring a smile to Red’s face. It is a sign of a good day, he believes. A productive, fruitful 24 hours.
As a bleary eye cracks open to the piercing beam of light that filters through the tulle curtains, a small figure shuffles and shifts around in brawny, crimson arms. Red’s jaw cracks as he yawns, and he rubs his tired eyes. The sun glimmers just outside the window of Duck and his room, greeting him with a smile.
Red grins back.
The figure that stirred just below his chin starts to jerk around, before a quiet squawk shatters the deafening silence. A few clicks of a bird’s beak follow, and Red tightens his grip around Duck.
“Good morning,” Red says softly. He knows how cranky his love can be after waking up, so his tone is delicate when he speaks. “How did you sleep?”
A huff–it sounds annoyed, but really, Red knows there’s no ill intent. “Fine, I guess.”
Stillness surrounds them again, but Red can’t bring himself to care as he’s too focused on nuzzling his face into the top of Duck’s feathery head. The other hardly notices, but he seems to enjoy the attention.
Duck had always loved attention; whether it’s quick stolen kisses, a long cuddle-session, or quality time together. Red admired it. It was a charming attribute. And, of course, he was happy to feed his love’s need for constant special treatment.
“Okay, stop it now, you’re going to mess up my feathers,” Duck scolds, batting Red’s face away. He’s not truly upset, as a slight laugh slips from his mouth. Cute.
The two shift around in bed for a few moments to reposition themselves into a more comfortable pose. Silky, ashen bedsheets pool by their tangled feet and legs. Soon, fingers find their familiar spot together and intertwine without hesitation.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Red asks.
“Pancakes? It’s been a while since I’ve had those, hmm. Yes,” Duck says, nodding slightly.
His love laughs, “You just had those last week.”
A week is a long time away from things you love.
Tired bodies haul themselves out of the soft ocean of blankets and pillows and dreams which they once rested in. The bathroom burbles to life with laughter and screams, and soon the shower head shudders to life. Lavender and apple suds, soapy toothbrushes, and pearly-white face towels for two; it all reminds Red of home.
An airy voice greets them as they step into the kitchen. Blue, tousled shoulder-length hair sits upon a smiley face, happy that the three are together.
“It’s breakfast time now,” Red says, looking at the much, much shorter two, “Fetch me the pancake batter, please.”
Preparation is always messy but fun; constant chides and requests, an endless need for more spoons or yet another bowl, and powdery flour that flies across the room.
“I want fruits on mine,” Yellow chimes, watching as Red effortlessly flips another cake. It lands back onto the scorching pan with a flat plop.
“Well, I want mine with that new chocolate spread we got, or maybe that fancy syrup we never got to really try,” Duck argues, placing three plates onto their table.
The duo’s bickering is nothing new to Red, at this point, he’s honestly found it cute. What would he do without these two?
“Relax,” he interrupts their petty dispute with a dismissive sigh, “you both can have whatever you want on your pancakes.”
Soon, two pancakes become five, then seven, then eleven; all due to a slight flaw in Duck’s calculations to increase the amount of pancakes the batter would make. (Yet, he still refuses to admit it was his fault. “It was intentional! Now we can have extras to eat later!”)
Two pancakes sit upon each ceramic plate, soaking in undoubtedly concerning amounts of syrup, and fresh blackberries and banana slices decorate each dish. Three cups holding orange juice, milk, and chocolate milk sit next to each plate along with a fork and knife.
Laughter erupts every now and then as the trio converse in the dim, sunrise light that illuminates the room.
After another round of giggles dissolves into quiet chatting, Red looks around.
Old, cerulean walls, tiny pots of herbs that line the window sill, the familiar black-and-white checker-board pattern that covers the floor–it’s all so welcoming. Relieving, even.
It reminds him of home.
And like always, the sun falls below the horizon as the moon crawls up to its special spot in the sky, but the birds never stop singing their special song.