Spin For You [Peterick]

-31-

Dear Patrick,

If only today had ended like it started.

Because it started pretty darn perfectly.

-

I usually forget people's birthdays. I'm crap with dates anyway, but once I start having to get presents and cards and all that stupid shit, I'm done. So I just kinda block them out. I've been doing that for so long, everybody knows I'm not going to get them a present, so they don't worry about it any more. I'm just the guy that turns up to their parties, drinks all their liquor and throws up in their garden on the way out.

But, as always, you're the exception.

I woke up on the 27th of April with a huge smile on my face. Today was going to be brilliant.

It had been my turn to sleep on the couch, which was perfect because it meant I could sneak about the place without waking you up. At least, not yet.

Pancakes were my go-to breakfast option. You go nuts for them, and they're easy as falling off a log. However, I'll be damned if I hadn't upped my pancake game since I last cooked them for you. No more weird lopsided shapes and burnt edges and squidgy bits in the middle. I knew how to get an almost perfect circle every time, I knew the physics behind the perfect flip, the right temperature, the right amount of butter, the right angle at which to hold the spatula.

So I silently got dressed, into clothes I'd hidden under the couch the night before so I wouldn't have to disturb you, and tried my utmost to look presentable. I wore a button-up, I mean, come on, I never wear button-ups. I even brushed my hair, something usually only forced upon me at photo-shoots.

Now for the pancakes. I discovered that being quiet is impossible when removing pans from a cupboard, even more so when said cupboard is slightly out of reach. If it'd been anyone else, they definitely would've woken up, but it was you, and you could sleep through a nuclear holocaust.

I pranced around the kitchen, collecting various ingredients that I'd had to meticulously hide from you. I'd put the whipped cream right at the back of the fridge where the vegetables are, because I knew you'd never venture there, and the spices I'd bought were hidden in various shoes. I just hoped they didn't now smell of said shoes.

Everything was lined up and ready to go. I'd even laid the table, with one of those pretty chequered table cloths, and a vase in the middle with a rose in it, because I'm shamelessly romantic. Now all I had to do was wake you up.

I crept into your dark bedroom, wondering if I should've knocked. Nah, who was I kidding, you never would've heard me. On the bed, there was a mess of duvets and pillows, a little fortress of sleep that you'd built during the night. You were somewhere in the middle of it, engulfed in the sheets.

Picking my way round to the other side of the bed, I tried to find some evidence that there was an actual human being under all that. But, even in the dark, I could see your face peeking out the top of your bed-burrito, your arms wrapped around the corner of the duvet, hugging it tightly to your chest. You were so darn cute, I had to try hard not to make squealy noises at you.

Reaching out, I gently placed my hand on your arm and gave it a little shake. It had about as much effect as blowing on a brick wall. This was gonna be tricky.

On any other day, I would have just thrown open the curtains and sung in your face or something, but seeing as it was your birthday, I had to show a little bit of mercy. I knelt down beside the bed, tilting my head so it was at about the same angle as yours, and leaned towards you. Your steady breaths tickled my face as I kissed you, slowly and carefully.