Imagine mornings with Johnny

Wednesday

It must be around 11 am when your eyes open as the sound of traffic is loud and the light pouring in is bright.
You're curled up in Johnny's arms, his body curving around yours on the large, worn sofa. You can feel his breath soft on your neck and his warm hands spanning out against the bare skin of your waist. The curtains turn the glare of the morning sun into a gentle red light, that casts a soft glow on the pair of you.
"Johnny," you say, turning your head towards him. He mumbles a muffled inaudible response, burying his head deeper into the crook of your neck.
"It's nearly half eleven," you quickly glance at the clock, "didn't you say Mick was coming round?"
"For fuck's sake." He lifts up his head with one eye closed, the other squinting at you, his dark hair sticking up at every angle.
"I forgot about that."
"You better get up then."
He looks at you for a moment before taking a long blink, "but you're so warm," he moans, wrapping his arms tighter around your torso and burying his head into your hair.