All That You Will

Forty-one

HIS EYES SLOWLY transfers to me. His eyes are weary but there's a glimpse of a slight smile on his lips.

       "It was sent, Siena," he says.

       I put my upper weight on the island counter and lean to it for me to get closer to his face. I close my eyes when our noses touch.

       Our lips just remain touching. I open my eyes and as I open them, I catch him staring back at me. He's been staring at my closed eyes maybe for some time now. Our lips separate but the connection between our eyes could already be expressed all that we feel—that words are not needed anymore. It's just between me and his eyes. It's enough already.

       I laugh and wiggle my head. I remove my weight on the kitchen island, away from him to continue what we are supposed to do. Morpheus laughs as well which makes my heart thump, I assume, almost in the same rhythm with him.

       "Come on now. Let's make the dough. Pretty sure you already know how to do it."

       He stands up on his chair. "Watch me," he responds. He goes to where I'm standing and open up the bag of flour. I guide him to what ingredients and the amount are needed to mix them in the bowl of dry ingredients. I already memorized this recipe because this recent Christmas season, I made ten batches of these cinnamon rolls. I also want to bring here how we celebrated Christmas in Sweden for the past years which part of it is waking up in the morning at the smell of cinnamon rolls.

       I just stand beside him with my right left hand resting at my waist and the other is placed on the table. He's now kneading the dough and what can I say is that he knows how to use his hand very very well.

       His veiny hands put all their effort into pressing hard on the dough and I can't prevent myself to watch every motion of his hand, the way he folds and press it. The way also his body moves forward as he exerts force to press the dough.

       My heart is thumping inside as I watch him knead. It's just so fascinating how he uses his hands very well.

       "How am I doing?" he asks as his eyes transfer from the dough to me. He's still doing his thing on the dough and I can't help but feel uncomfortable about where I stand.

       "You're doing very well, Morpheus. Very well."

       He laughs and wiggles his head. He puts his attention back to kneading the dough.

       His biceps are very evident on his blue cotton long sleeve. Pretty sure he's much stronger than he used to. He could literally carry me up in the air like I'm a barbell. 

       We left the cinnamon rolls inside the oven as it cooks and now, Morpheus and I are on our way upstairs. I can't help but feel amazed at the design of our staircase as always. I've always been fascinated by staircases. Below our curved staircase is a grand piano where Morpheus play back then.

       I want to hear him play again. I miss it.

       "Can you play the piano for me later, Morpheus?"

       He smiles. "You want to hear me play?"

       "I miss it."

       "I will later."

       "Thank you," I say and snug my head at his chest.

       I hear his nose's quiet blow and upon hearing it, I know I made him smile.

       I smile.

       We pass along the hallway on the way to our room and lots of familiar paintings are hanging on the wall. The big chandelier at the center of our curved stairs is making some light reflections on the wall we're passing by.