P. M. | Completed

1 # gimme time, love

Chapter 1 :- Gimme time, love.

I walked in his dorm, using the spare key Alexander gave me last month. Balancing a bag of muffins and two coffees in my arms, I set the keys on his table. His dorm was mostly clean, if you could excuse a few empty pizza boxes lying around.

I set my morning takeaway besides the keys and went towards his soundly sleeping self, lying on his stomach on his bed. As I brushed my hand through his hair, he moved a little but, otherwise remained asleep.

I sat on his bed, my hands still in his hair. It is funny how things change. It is funny his things don't. Three months with this man, I tried to think of the changes. Apart from our breakfasts together, phone calls, and nights on the track, we hardly knew each other.

Alexander was complicated, I knew. What I didn't know was the depth of his complexity. The most he talked to me was during our racing nights. Otherwise, he was a man of a few words. Very few words. So few, I used to wonder at times, whether he talked to me during those nights, only to reassure me that we were going to make it out alive. Or to reassure the others that I was his.

And I kept going back, because in those little moments, I had found my addiction. It was hard getting away from this man. It was harder staying away from him. But, it was the hardest getting him up for his 8:00 am lectures.

I whispered in his ear, trying to get him up. He turned on his back, still unwilling to bid goodbye to his sleep. In those three months, the biggest shocker to me was when I discovered that Alex worked as a mechanic nearby. When I asked, he had merely shrugged, "I'm a university student, Norah. Student loans and all. Broke as fuck."

Sure, even I worked as a university tutor. But his case was different... "And the cash you make from racing?" I had asked.

"I doubt the bank considers illegal racing a proper medium to earn money."

"Not, that silly. You said you were broke. You should not be. What do you do with that money?"

"Charity." Was all I ever got as a reply. I didn't bother to dig further in his business. When he would tell me, I'd listen. Forcefully making way in his mind, would only push me away from him. Keeping his side of the unspoken agreement, he never interfered in my work. It was weird, I had to constantly remind myself of our relationship.

Five minutes, I was frustrated. "Alex, wake up for God's sake. We'll get late."

"Gimme time, love. Gimme time." His words were sluggish, heavily laden with sleep.

After another five minutes of attempting to understand one of his textbooks on Binary Digits, I gave up. I said loudly, "Alex, get your ass out of the bed. I'm starving."

Alex, unperturbed by my small outburst, turned to his side, showing his back to me. He then pushed his rear out of the edge of the bed.

Very literal, Alex. Very literal.

"Alexander Bishop, I am eating the muffins. Whether your lame ass wakes up or not." I declared.

"Okay, okay. I'm up." He groggily said, his voice throaty.

"Finally." I whispered to myself. I set our breakfast on a small table beside his bed. He came out of the tiny attached bath, looking fresher than before. Giving me a grin, he commented, "Looks good."

I smiled back. We both ate in silence before he asked, "Don't you have a lecture this morning?"

"I have a lecture with you, Alex. My only lecture with you. Political Science." My voice was an obvious eye roll.