The Years That Followed

Chapter Three: Running is Fun but Painful?

I woke up hot and sweaty. The pounding headache reminding me of last night and all of its events. I say events- what I mean is, something that happened that my melodramatic ass is probably blowing out of proportion.

The environment which I currently found myself in was not unfamiliar. The impractical white bed sheet on the double bed, the unread books on the bedside table. Yep, Noah's apartment. I looked over to see the boy in question next to me, star-fished out, head buried in the pillow and drool from the side of his mouth. His limbs weighed me down making it hard to do much of the surveying or reflecting that my mind seemed to want to do this morning.

What a stunner.

But this scene was one that I cherished most. It was a place where I felt comfortable and where I don't have to feel like I have to get my life together.

Of course as soon as I go home, I awaken from my sleepy existence and get on with Tesco's and the hopeless search for something else.

I always had to remind myself that hanging out with Noah was a short reprieve. Emphasis on reprieve. Unlike Noah, I was not living a life that everyone dreamed of with movie stars and the freedom to feel like you weren't wasting your life.

Knowing what Noah was like in the morning, I rolled out of the warm cocoon of the bed and padded out to the open plan kitchen. For someone who embodied chaos, Noah's flat was mainly white with polished surfaces. It contrasted entirely with the mess that it was always in.

The mess hadn't moved in so long that I could precisely dodge each pair of underwear, every mysterious plate of something that used to be edible and avoid the heavy furniture that would inevitably result in a stubbed toe with one wrong move. I remember how I used to chastise Noah and his messy flat, but I found it intriguing how he would always know where everything was.

Of course, now I realise that it wasn't hard to navigate his apartment if nothing changed and you lived with it long enough.

I finally reached the kitchen after accomplishing the last yoga stretch of the obstacle course, and began to cook breakfast. I knew that Noah would soon awake from his slumber to join me in the kitchen, where we would resume our normal morning routine after a night out.

Given my reluctance these days for a night out- these mornings were now fleeting.

A good thing mind you. I don't have time anymore.

Halfway through making my omelette, Noah emerges from the bedroom shirtless and sleepy-eyed. He reminds me of a sleepy puppy with his hair all in crazy directions. One of the things that I love about Noah is that he isn't one of those people who wake up perfect. In fact, I can see the dried drool still on the side of his mouth.

How lovely.

Once he reaches me, Noah begins to make our coffee, our backs almost touching. There we initiate the dance of breakfast. No words are exchanged in our half-awake routine. Every move had already been intricately timed to coincide with another without any communication needed.

Both of us knew not to speak until coffee had been obtained and food consumed as previous experience had taught us. After we had finished our jobs and the eggs and caffeine were steaming on the table- bites already taken, conversation could commence.

'You might want to fix that drooling habit you have before Kat finds out how much of a mess you are.' I comment, staring into the bitterness of the coffee cup, slightly wincing at the remark.

'No matter how disgusting I look, all I have to do is stand next to you and I look instantly better by comparison.' Noah fires back with a grin quickly despite the early hour of the day.