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eleven.

Waking up for Charlie's 8 o'clock breakfast plan felt brutal, especially since we hadn't even gotten in from clubbing until midnight.

When we got back from Bahrain earlier this week, Charles had brought up the idea of us having a meal together every day whenever we were in Monaco since we now lived in the same building. It made sense to do so, the commute to each other's places less than 5 minutes - and that's if you were walking incredibly slow and taking the stairs up two floors instead of the elevator.

I dragged myself out of bed this morning, I swear I'm still somewhat drunk from last night. My pajama shorts and hoodie were lazily pulled on as I left my room. He better appreciate my presence this morning.

"Bonjour, chéri." (Good morning, Darling.)  Charles smiled as he opened the door, only a few seconds after I knocked.

I smiled, a little less enthusiastically, "Bonjour, Charlie." (Good morning, Charlie.)

He laughed as he stepped away, letting me walk past him into the apartment. I wonder if I looked as rough as I felt.

"Dors bien?" (Sleep well?)

I turned to face him, shrugging as I hopped up onto one of the stools at his kitchen island. He stood there, hands lazily on his hips, watching me. I watched back, noticing how his sweatpants hung low on his hips and how the t-shirt he was wearing hugged his biceps.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a pour le petit-déjeuner? J'ai faim." (What's for breakfast? I'm hungry.)

He pointed at me, sauntering over, and stopping just a foot from the stool I was sitting on. "Tu vas m'aider à faire des crêpes." (You're going to help me make pancakes.)

"Vous plaisantez." (You're kidding.) I gaped. For some reason I hadn't expected to actually cook our breakfast this morning.

Charles laughed at my response, shaking his head and holding out a hand to me. I dramatically sighed, taking his hand and letting him tug me off of the stool.

We spent the next few minutes collecting everything we needed to make our breakfast. He even had the idea to make some eggs to go with the pancakes. I wanted to volunteer for only that, but apparently that's taking the easy way out and making the pancakes together would be "fun."

"Tu veux des pépites de chocolat?" (Do you want chocolate chips?) I asked as I walked over where I know he stored them in his cabinets.

"Évidemment." (Obviously)

I couldn't help but smile as I added the chocolate to our batter, thankful that Charles had just as much of a sweet tooth as I did.

I cursed under my breath when I felt my knuckle touch the batter. I had mistakenly gotten my hand too close when adding in the ingredient, apparently. Without thinking, I wiped my knuckles on Charles' bare forearm before taking the spoon and stirring in the chips.

"Charlie!" I gasped as he stuck his finger in the bowl and then wiped the batter on my cheek. What was he doing? "Pourquoi sur mon visage?" (Why on my face?)

He shrugged, the most mischievous little smirk on his face.

His fingers gripped my chin tilting my face to the side. I was confused at first until he dipped his face in close, sticking his tongue out to lick the batter from my face. Something in my stomach went crazy at the action. Did he really just do that?

"Est-ce que tu viens de me lécher?" (Did you just lick me?) I asked in disbelief.

Charles had a smug look on his face, "Peut être." (Maybe.)