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When your eyes flutter open, breath speeding up as life begins to seep into your muscles, the world is a familiar, colourful fogginess that you know you can’t blink away. A warm square fills your vision, the sunlight speckled across your face as it peeks through the window behind the rippling curtains. The room is quiet with the gentle hum of electricity, buzzing from the electrical appliances just down the hall, and the gentle patter of water droplets echoes from just further along. Rolling away from the luminous sight, the spot next to you is cooling to the touch, the heat of the sun’s rays intermingling with the last remnants of your lover’s warmth.
“Phone, time?” You yawn, pressing a palm against your eyes, watching the pale morning colours disappear into a blackness. A tinny voice from your phone announces that the hour has just turned eight, the day seems clear but cool, and wishes you a good day before falling silent.
You lay there, fading in and out in the silence, bathing in the last tendrils of sleep until a leathery, wet nose pushes itself underneath your hand spread out against the mattress. The sensation draws a sleepy giggle from you, exciting the nose which begins wriggling underneath your palm as a furiously wagging tail drags through the air loudly, thumping against the bedpost with each swish.
The large shape of your german shepard perched on the bed fills your vision, and based on the whines he exhales with each breath, you assume he’s giving you a look that Simon calls ‘the saddest puppy in the world’.
“Yeah yeah, I know, you’re hungry sweetheart,” you croon, rubbing the bridge of his head affectionately. Riley nuzzles into the pat with a happy pant, pulling himself off the bed as you sit up and swing your legs over the edge.
The slippers are cosy on your feet, shielding them from the air far colder than the haven of body heat underneath your blanket, and Riley jumps excitedly as you finally right yourself up off the bed. He keeps to your left as you shuffle sleepily to the door, a soft barrier of fur between your knees and the bedframe, having learnt after listening to you curse the thing out in pain more than once when you were becoming accustomed to the new flat.
The smell of soap is clearer in the hallway, drifting from the slightly cracked bathroom door that allows the soft sound spotting of droplets to spill from the room. Riley brushes past you to sit himself in the hallway with a huff, acting as a very determined blob of a barrier between you and the bathroom, the outline of his head just distinguishable enough to see it pointedly stuck towards the archway to the kitchen. He pants happily as you bump his head playfully, nudging at your leg as you grab his food from the fridge in its designated bottom draw, listening to his nails click against the tiles with his gleeful tapping.
“This what you’re after, handsome?” You laugh, tipping his food into the bowl as he gives a loud woof before his muzzle is deep in the dish. Washing your hands to make a start on breakfast, the water splatters uninterrupted by dishes against the sink basin, and the kettle is chill to your touch as you tentatively tap it. Simon’s mug is right where you expect it to be, still hanging on the wall from last night’s dishes.
Grabbing the cool ceramic and popping the kettle on, the frigid chill has you regretting not grabbing something to wrap around yourself. The desire to escape its grips drives you to reach for the default, everything needed for Simon’s usual breakfast.
Different shaped containers are scattered against the wall on the counter, your fingers skimming the lids until you feel the curve of the sugar pot and the metal of the tea container. You fish for the teaspoon lingering inside the pot, dumping in the respective amounts – just one sugar for Simon – and two teabags, putting the pots back as you reach for the liquid level indicator hanging neatly off the hook Simon installed for you. It slots on the side of the mug as you fill them up, waiting for the tempo of the beeps to increase as the water nears the rim, before topping it off with milk and repeating it again for Simon’s mug. The kettle’s heat faintly stretches to the handle, warming the inside of your hand as you tilt it back up right, cutting off the stream of water.
Between your preoccupation with making breakfast and the low rumble of kitchen appliances, the absence of running water going unnoticed as you bustle abou. It isn’t until you hear Riley’s paws scrabbling against the cold kitchen tile from where he was laying down, bounding to the entryway with happy growls, that you realise Simon has finished in the bathroom.
The tag on Riley’s collar tinkles as Simon rubs at him aggressively, deep thuds as he slaps his hind with affection, charging the pup up with a shower of love that has him whining and squirming in enthusiasm. You can hear Simon rumble soothing affection as he makes his way across the kitchen to you with padded footsteps, pacifying Riley back down to a lively bouncing buzz as he comes up behind you.
You turn in Simon’s arms as you feel them trap you to the counter, resting on each side of you. The pout you give him is smothered by the kiss he plants to your lips, soft and minty with the taste of lingering toothpaste, and he pulls away.
“Our boy got you up?” He mumbles into your shoulder, a smile in his tone while his lips graze against your skin, his hot breath washing against it.
“Yeah, thought I’d get started on breakfast ‘til someone interrupted me. Not hungry this morning?” You query, bringing up a hand to run through his soft, still damp hair.
“Jus’ wanted to shower first, didn’t think you’d be awake before I finished.”
You grunt in response, closing your eyes and relaxing as his arms embrace you. His hand dwarfs the side of your head, pulling it against his clothed chest as the other slips around your back, rubbing it gently. The soft patter of his heartbeat lulls a sense of sleepiness back into you, and just for a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re not back in bed. The tranquil trance is broken as Simon pulls away, arm still around your back. “Want a cuppa?”
You chuckle, detaching yourself from his embrace. “Already made one, made yours too.”
His socks rub gently against the tiles as he turns to the counter, letting out a rumble of appreciation as he walks over to grab one. “Didn’t even notice. Too good to me, poppet.” He hums, sipping at the steaming tea before returning the mug back to its spot. You return his affection with your own happy hum, grabbing the spatula from where you left it on the bench before your arm is stilled by a firm grip.
“Didn’t you say you made a cuppa already?” He teases, taking the spatula from your hand as he gently bumps you to the side. “Go sit down, let me.”
You cross the kitchen to the little table pressed up against the corner, placing your hand flat against the wood to feel for the edge before you put the mug down and take your own seat. Running your thumb along the ridges and bumps of your mug, you listen to Simon’s movements as he works in the kitchen.
“Want everythin’, full plate?” He asks, stirring the content of the pan.
“Yes, please.”
It falls silent again as you sip at your drink, taking in the wide shape of your man blocking the light of the stove’s overhead. His figure is dark today, even in the light of the room, but from being within them, you know the only thing wrapped around his arms is the extensive, intricate ink he’s described to you.
“Got plans for today?” His voice carries over the sizzling, interrupting your thinking. You hum thoughtfully, leaning back in your chair before responding.
“Yeah, actually. Wanted to go for a walk to the park, got some fruit scraps for the ducks. What shirt is that?”
The clank of Riley’s tag announces his captured attention at the word walk. He trots from his place of hovering at Simon’s feet in hopes of stray scraps, moving to sit next to your chair and nudge your thigh with his nose, and Simon snorts at your question before he answers. “Was hopin’ you wouldn’t ask that. S’the one Johnny got for me, skeleton on the front with the extra bone.”
He emphasizes the last words in a mocking Scottish accent, huffing playfully as you laugh against the rim of your mug at the memory. “That was a good one. I know I heard Price chuckling at that one, I don’t care what he says.”
The hinges click as he pulls the cupboard open, grabbing plates out to serve up the food. The metal of the cutlery clinks against the plate as it hits the table with Simon’s delivery, taking a seat across the small table. Finding its home tucked behind your ankle, his foot rubs the back of your calf, a gentle up and down. You give your thanks with a smile as you pick up your utensils and dig in, taking time to savour the food as Simon’s figure hunches over with each bite into his toast.
“You want to go right after?” He questions, voice thick with a mouthful of food.
“I think Riley wants to go right now,” you giggle, and Riley whines with a huff at his name, tail sweeping across the floor as he presses his muzzle against your thigh.
“Comprise with right after,” Simon affirms fondly, pulling off a piece of meat to offer Riley who gobbles it down with a series of dramatic slurps. You rub his muzzle affectionately as you finish the last of your plate, and the big pup returns to your thigh in hopes of extra feedings. He huffs when your fingers only deliver apologies, moving away to scratch noisily at the metal of his collar. Simon scoffs as he reaches for your plate, stacking it on top of his as he rises from his chair. “Reckon ‘e’d eat until ‘e was sick if we’d bloody let ‘im.”
You stand up with him, brushing off your gown and pushing your chair in. “Well, let’s go before he gets any more excited, or he won’t last until we get our shoes on.”
Simon laughs quietly, putting the dishes in the sink before following you to the bedroom. His clothes ruffle as he shucks them off, chucking them into the laundry basket as you open the closet. Running your hands through the orderly fabrics, Simon slips behind you, hands on your hips.
“Something loose, nice to walk in,” you hum, answering his silent question as you feel Simon’s arm brush across your shoulder as he reaches for something.
“The blue one?” He suggests, pulling away to redress himself, and your hands trail to the one he’s talking about. “Looks good on you.”
The compliment sways you, your hands sifting through the rack of fabric and tugging the clothing off the hanger before letting your dressing gown fall to the floor. Before you can fully pull the dress over your head, the gown brushes against your feet as Simon grabs it, grazing against you again to return it to the closet. He already has socks in hand, giving them to you as he calls Riley out the room, who scrabbles from his bed to follow. You pull the socks on, grabbing the bag hanging from your doorknob as the sound of Riley’s whining grows louder with each step to the front door.
Simon’s form grows as he rises from the floor, and you can hear him nudge your shoes across the floor to you. Sliding them on, you reach for your cane on the wall as the click of the leash connecting to the harness sends Riley onto another cacophony of excited yips. “Ready, love?” Simon’s face is obscured moreso than usual, hiding behind his cap as his mask slightly muffles his words.
“Ready!” You chime, wrapping the strap of your cane around your wrist. The breeze is slightly cool against your face as you step out the door, waiting for Simon to lock it. Riley sits with restrained excitement, tail sweeping as you reach down for his harness to double-check it’s secured into the lead. When you stand up straight, the rough callous of Simon’s hand grazes against your inner arm, feeling for your hand, and you allow him with a small squeeze as your fingers intertwine.
“Got the fruit.” He shakes the bag as you walk into the street, the click of your cane setting a comfortable rhythm. “Thank god,” you mutter, “or it’d be a short time at the park.”
The walk is tranquil, only interrupted by Riley’s pauses to sniff around eagerly or mark his territory at each streetlight and fire hydrant. The familiarity of the path you walk frequently aids your confidence, easily navigating each rise and dip in the pavement and avoiding the bins that’ve been put out for collection.
Peals of laughter and squeals echo through the fresh morning air as you near the park, the faint quacking of ducks punctuating each pause of audible joy. The high-pitched, youthful clamour grows with each step of your feet against the pavement, and by the time you’ve reached the park’s entrance, there’s a much busier buzzing than usual from the playground.
Simon’s grip on your hand tightens just noticeably as Riley leads the way, well accustomed to the routine as you move away from the noisy children. The walk is slower with more people to avoid, though Simon’s inherently insinuating nature often creates a wide berth that you’re silently thankful for, leaving you to focus on avoiding any sticks or rocks that have found their way onto the path.
The clicking of your cane dies as you veer off the path, replaced by grass squeaking under your feet as you head for the bench overlooking the lake. Instead of letting the cane graze across the ground, you raise it to tap from left and right to minimize the chance of getting caught on the uneven dirt and jabbing yourself in the ribs.
When the bench becomes more defined, you retract your cane, tucking it into the holder of your bag. The sturdy wood of the structure is smooth under your fingers, well-kept with maintenance as you reach for it, and your bag thunks heavily next to you as you sit.
Simon takes his seat a moment after, tying Riley’s leash to the armrest before settling next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He fiddles with the knot in the bag, the rustling of plastic combined with a grunt as he tugs it open. Extending your hand expectantly, he grabs a handful of fruit before giving it over, sitting it in the palm of your hand.
The presence of humans has attracted a few braver duck who waddle up with a noisy swish and a shake of their feathers, quacking cautiously at the big, furry dog parked almost on top of your feet. Simon coaxes them in with friendly grumbles, throwing cuts of apple that hit the grass with a quiet thump and send the ducks into a flurry of feathers as they fight to peck it first.
A few slices of fruit later and the ordeal has drawn in more ducks than you can distinguish the noises from, crowding around the bench without getting too close to Riley. Simon describes each funny-looking duck, teasingly insulting them or characterising them in silly ways that make you giggle. “Got a big arse, that one, talk about fuckin’ boyant. An' this little fucker keeps pushin’ in. Y’know what – oi, back of the line, you – there y’go, someone take ‘is spot.”
With the sizeable group of eager beaks to snap up the food, the bag quickly empties, leaving you with nothing but plastic to stuff back into the draw. The crowd of ducks disperses as they realise the feeding has come to an end, disinterested in your friendly, waggling fingers or the hungry way Riley licks his lips. The pups’ patience has worn thin, which he makes clear with his gentle whines and huffs as he licks impatiently at your leg. When Simon unties his leash to give Riley more room to walk around, clinking against the metal legs of the bench, Riley bounces up to stretch with a dramatic yawn, digging his nails into the ground and tearing at the dirt.
Simon’s amused snort makes you smile, and you assume he catches the way his reaction tugs at your lips, as his hand slips into yours again. “Glad I have you,” he murmurs into your ear, planting a soft kiss against your head.
You turn your head to press a kiss into his shoulder, taking in the smokey smell of his jacket as you prepare to get back up again. “Glad I have you too.”