We Know Better

Real

Morning light shines through the window and onto my face. On second glance, it is more like afternoon light, at the earliest. Brendon is laying on his front with his face turned away from me while I lay partially on top of him with my cheek against his shoulder blade. I let myself lay awake for a moment in peace as I take in the quiet moment and gently trace patterns in the freckles that are sprinkled over his back like they are on his chest. His breathing is light and I can tell he is awake when it changes. He does not automatically get up, though. For a bit, he lets me continue drawing. Eventually, I lean forward and start pressing kisses to his skin. A contented noise rumbles through his body and a moment later he shifts. Moving onto his back, he gazes up at me since I am now propped up on my elbow. As he puts his palm against my cheek, I hope that my hair does not look like a mess.

"Morning, Beautiful," his sleepy voice greets.

I giggle and grin as I reply, "morning, Handsome."

He arches an eyebrow up playfully at me, "what? Do I not get to be beautiful because I'm a boy."

I laugh out loud at him and bite my lip before saying, "of course not. You are my beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy."

"Yours?" He asks with a half-smile.

"Yes," I affirm, feeling pride well in my chest, "mine, all mine."

His mouth grows into a grin, "I like the thought of being all yours."

He reaches a hand over to my thigh and gives it a little tug so that I will straddle him. I settle my knees on either side of his hips and gently rest my weight on top of him. His hand rests against my upper thigh while the other stays on my face to pull me down to him. And that is how we start our morning, a little bit of soft and sweet and a little bit of hot and heavy.

We eventually make it out of bed and downstairs. His family are all present in the kitchen and his parents are making breakfast together. As we enter, his mom spots us first and she gives us a warm smile. On the other side of the countertop, his brother leans against the marble. His father's back is to us while he stands at the stove.

"Oh good, you two are awake. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to come get you for breakfast."

"Ma, it's already one, this breakfast is a sham," his brother jokes.

"Luke, son, do me a favor and shut the fuck up, honey," his father says.

Everyone laughs and it feels so weird to not feel tension when family is gathered. If I were home, my father would probably be yelling or complaining about something and everyone else would be walking on eggshells trying to avoid being the subject of his perpetual bad mood, and we'd still fail. Brendon's mom turns to his father and gives him a piece of bacon followed by a kiss. I feel the smile spread across my face while I watch them. There is a brush against the back of my hand. Brendon glances over at me as he intertwines our fingers. Seeing his family so happy and feeling so... loved, it pierces a hole in my chest and in that moment I cannot breathe. Brendon's hand feels too tight, though I know he is not squeezing, and I feel profoundly out of place. Gently, I pull my hand from his and excuse myself from the kitchen. When he catches up to me, I am in the hallway trying to figure out how to breathe again.

"Laines, you okay..." when he sees the tears in my eyes concern fills his features, "honey, what's wrong?" He reaches his hand for my cheek.

"No, sorry," I carefully push his hand from my face. "I just -- I don't know. I feel..." I don't know what to say to him. How do I explain that feeling loved is making me upset? How insane is that?!

He keeps his hands next to his side after I pushed him away and that almost makes it worse. The way he is so constantly considerate of me. What did I do to have him in my life? How is it that he can love me like he said he does? What if he just said it in the moment? What if he is getting tired of this? I wouldn't blame him for being done with all of the mental drama I bring.