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Winter has started her slow encroachment on the fall, and you wake up in Clark’s bed. It seems like the world is spinning too fast, the joy of Halloween replaced by the dread of the cold to come. Your whole life, it’s been hard to sit still, to appreciate the here and now rather than looking towards the future, either with excitement or trepidation. As much as you want to revel in the Halloween spirit, you’ve already moved on.
These revelations come as you fight against opening your eyes, desperate for a few more minutes of comfortable sleep that you know will never come, at least not today. The sunlight is streaming through the curtains, the baby blue ones you’d bought as a joke because of how well they matched Clark’s eyes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel your throat constrict when you saw he’d hung them up in earnest.
Things between you and Clark are still new and tender, like a budding flower you’re desperate to keep from blooming fully, if only because you know that the only step to follow is wilt and decay. At least, that’s been your only experience with this heart racing, throat closing, dry mouth, head spinning sort of feeling Clark seems to elicit in you. Lately, though, it’s a feeling you’ve been craving, one that seems a little less terrifying with every passing day.
You sit up, bracing yourself for a chill that never comes. Clark runs hot, which means that his apartment, especially in the mornings, is freezing cold. It’s never really that much of a problem, you’ll shiver for a minute and then Clark’ll notice and wrap you in a hug, offering you a sweatshirt to keep you warm while he makes breakfast. Today, though, there’s not even a shiver.
Delightfully confused and still slightly groggy from sleep, you pull yourself out of bed and make your way to the kitchen, where you know you’ll find Clark. The first few times you’d woken up in an empty bed, you’d sat there deliberating for what felt like hours before trudging out to find him. Now, though, you don’t even have to stop and think, even as you take a minute to luxuriate in the warm sheets before you get out of bed.
He’s exactly where you think he’ll be, back to the doorway as he stands at the stove. You don’t get a chance to sneak up on him, to surprise him with your arms around his waist and your face pressed against his warm back, because he turns over his shoulder to smile at you the second you pass the threshold.
“Goodmorning,” his voice is still rough, scratching in a way that hits you deep in your chest, a sound you want to bathe in. Hair all tousled, there’s nothing you want to do more than pull him back towards the bedroom, but you resist, and instead just smile back at him.
“Morning,” you say through a yawn, rolling your eyes when Clark laughs at you.
“Tired?” He teases, and you just shake your head, crossing over to the cabinet where you know he keeps his mugs. The one you’ve claimed as your own, a light green color with acorns on it, is on the lowest shelf, perfectly within arm’s reach.
“Not my fault the sun rose at four in the morning,” you exaggerate, but you’re still awake much earlier than you’d like to be on a Sunday. The sight of Clark cooking you breakfast soothes that irritation, but not enough to avoid dramatics. “And it’s gonna get dark so early.”
“That’s what lamps are for,” he replies, infuriatingly positive and infuriatingly pretty when he turns to smile at you, switching the stove off. You take your mug and make your way to the couch, knowing that any attempts at helping him cook would be met with a teasing swat from whatever spatula or whisk he had in hand.
The two of you like to cook together, like to make dinner through a fit of giggles or fight about who’s cookies turned out better, but when Clark cooks for you, he wants to be left entirely to his own devices. It made you uncomfortable at first, the rawness of having someone care for you while you sit back and do nothing, but now you don’t mind it as much. Sure, it still makes your skin crawl just a little, but it’s nice to be taken care of once in a while, without having anything expected of you in return.
Still, you’re already plotting how to get back at him. Maybe you’ll bring him a coffee tomorrow, or surprise him with lunch from that sandwich place he likes so much.
In the living room, you’re met with the evidence of the night before. There’s an empty bowl that had been overflowing with popcorn, and a pile of candy wrappers that you’d normally be embarrassed about, but you find you don’t care. Instead, you just set about cleaning everything up, something the two of you had been far too tired to do the night before.
The candy wrappers all belonged to Halloween leftovers, remnants of what the trick-or-treaters had left behind in the bowl. It confused you a little, because all of the candy were your favorites, but maybe kids just don’t have taste anymore. Really, Clark had sifted through the variety packs he’d bought and pulled out the ones he knew you liked, setting them aside in a bowl of their own.
By the time you’ve managed to return the living room to something resembling clean, Clark emerges from the kitchen with breakfast, two plates piled high with a little bit of everything you could possibly want so you don’t have to choose. It makes you feel ill, just a little, how much you like him, how sweet and perfect and lovely he is. You’d tell him, but you can’t find the words. You don’t think there are words for how you feel, at least not any you know that would do it justice.
Instead, you just lean up and press a kiss to his jaw, taking the plates from him as the two of you sit down. Maybe the words will come to you later, when you find the little bowl of candy he’d set aside. Or maybe they’ll come when you bring him lunch the next day, exactly what he likes without needing to ask.
There’s a part of you that wonders if you even need the words, though, when your favorite mug is in hand’s reach and the thermostat magically turns on before you get out of bed, when you know his coffee order by heart and remember which brand of syrup he likes. The words may come to you later, but for now, you don’t think you need them.