He already knows it will sit on the windowsill — unfinished and cold — but he makes it anyway. An extra shot of espresso, the tiniest bit of sugar, always in the same mug. Next comes breakfast; plated methodically and with as much care as ever, despite his wandering mind.
It feels never ending lately. A triple header is no small feat, especially with the added pressure of a rookie season. All eyes on him — the attitude he had whilst signing the cap of a fan, the team dynamic he ruined after taking the place of a seven time champ, the hyper criticism after his latest DNF, the changes in his appearance, the photos he posts, the statements he ma-
The warmth is what brings him back to the present. The red pools in him palm, and he turns towards the sink to rinse the small cut, still on auto pilot. Cutting food and getting lost in his thoughts clearly isn’t a good mix, he thinks to himself, turning off the tap and drying his hands.
He looks down at the end result, the breakfast spread imperfect and yet he still thinks to himself that she’ll be proud.
It’s the thought that counts, right?
Hands full, he makes his way back to her; he always does. The smell of sleep mixes with her perfume, the one he bought back in Monaco when he couldn’t seem to get her off his mind, sleep eluding him.
With the curtain pushed back, the sun peaks in and spreads its light across the floor and before he can even open the other, a groan makes its way to his ears. He smiles as their familiar routine begins once more, grateful to be living it after going three weeks without it.
He knows not to pester — he learned the hard way — so he sets down the dishes.
It’s become sacred, watching her wake up. She’s been the one constant throughout all the chaos, pulling him out of the thoughts that only seem to rear their heads when things are especially heavy.
He knows how much she despises him doing it, admiring her coming to life, but he can’t help himself from admiring her during these moments, the few times she is uninhibited and truly, unabashedly, her. He tells her all the time how she is his sole - his sun. She rolls her eyes, says how ridiculous he is, but she never quite catches the look he has in his eye as he says it, one that captures the emotions he can’t quite put into words yet, but that he vows to, one day.
Slowly comes down the corner of her blanket, the checkered one he pokes fun at her for, but still takes the time to fold and place at the edge of the bed every morning.
He brushes the hair out of her face.
She sits up and reaches for the coffee, sipping it. It spreads warmth through her body, the kind that lightens her thoughts as well as her expression. That same energy spreads through him, tethering him to the present, to their shared bed, their holy ground. He forgets the critics and the self doubt, allowing himself to feel pride. He smiles, seeing her enjoy what he made - always does when he knows he’s done something to please her.
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
stormborns
germansingergirl
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
