There’s a sacred ritual to my mornings: first, the pure, unadulterated bliss of sinking my face into the soft fortress of my duvet, wrapping myself up like a human burrito, and convincing myself that ten more minutes of warmth counts as productive time.
This morning was no exception. The sun was already beaming through the window, turning my dark purple curtains into something more of a lavender shade, backlit and glowing. I could practically see the tiny dust particles dancing in the shafts of light as I lay there, eyes shut tight, just soaking in the quiet.
My breath hitched slightly as I realized the windows were closed again. Every morning I'd think about cracking one open for a breeze, but then the thought of spiders invading my space would have me shutting it tight—no exceptions. Those creepy, eight-legged nightmares, with their fuzzy little bodies and twitchy legs, haunted my imagination. I shivered, pulling the duvet tighter around me like armor against the fear.
And then, just as I was nesting back into my cocoon, the universe—or more precisely, my housemate Zach—decided to strike.
Out of nowhere, a feather—long, pink, and kinky as hell—wiggled its way near my ear. I screamed, flinched, and bolted upright as if the bed itself had caught fire. My eyes, probably as bloodshot as a zombie’s, narrowed on the perpetrator, who was doubled over in laughter on the right side of our king-sized bed.
"Seriously?" I groaned, voice hoarse from sleep and annoyance. "You’re such a dick." The warmth I’d been luxuriating in was stolen in an instant, replaced by goosebumps and the cruel reminder that it’d be at least 24 hours before I’d feel that snug again.
Zach's eyes sparkled with mirth as he wiped tears of laughter from his cheeks. "Look who's talking," he teased, still pajama-clad and sporting that messy wave of sandy-brown hair that never quite cooperated in the mornings, like it had given up on life.
"Not funny," I grumbled, trying to sound serious but failing miserably. "I thought you were a spider!" Clad in nothing but pink knickers and a black strap top, I felt every chill crawl over my skin as my mind raced back to those twitchy-legged nightmares.
He laughed even harder, a childish giggle that made me want to punch him but also made it impossible to stay mad. Honestly, Zach sometimes acted half his age, even at twenty-five.
The sound of his snort cracked me up more than I wanted to admit. Have you ever tried not laughing while someone was laughing with that contagious abandon? It’s damn near impossible.
"Whatever," I shrugged, rolling my eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at my lips. Crossing my arms to look stern was futile—Zach had won this round.
"It’s late," he said, voice still light with laughter. His green eyes caught the sunlight, making them sparkle as he grinned. Rolling onto his left side, he propped his head on one hand—the one still holding the feather—and ran the other through his hair, slicking it back a little. "You slept right through your alarms again. Thought I’d give you a gentle—okay, not so gentle—wake-up call."
Damn, had I really? Sleeping through alarms was an art form of mine, and waking me was like trying to rouse a particularly stubborn corpse.
"Oh," I said, sheepish. Fair enough, he had to wake me, but still—"Did you have to use your, uh, kinky feather thing?" I shuddered, the thought of where that feather had been making my skin crawl. "No telling where that’s been."
He shrugged, twirling the feather between his fingers with mock innocence. "Nowhere gross," he assured me, eyes flicking up to meet mine with that signature grin. "Only up Danny’s arse."
My eyes went wide, and I choked on my breath. "Wait, what? You said nowhere gross!" I gagged mentally. "Danny’s arse? That’s... ew, Zach!"
He just laughed, sitting up straighter as if proud to share the story. "I’m telling the truth. Danny’s arse was far from gross. It was... heaven," he mused, voice dreamy, before his expression clouded. "God, I miss him."
"Aw, honey," I softened immediately, scooting closer on the bed to give him a comforting squeeze. I knew the breakup had been brutal for him. Zach had been head over heels, ready to ask Danny to move in—not just with him but with us—when Danny pulled the plug after a year and a half. He said it wasn’t working, but Zach found out Danny had moved on, updating his Facebook with a new flame.
"He didn’t deserve you," I said gently, wrapping an arm around Zach's broad shoulders as I settled back on my heels. "He was a jerk for what he did. You shouldn’t be sad. He lost someone who loved him. The only thing you lost was—"
"A twat-waffle who didn’t deserve me," Zach interrupted, grinning despite the sadness. He knew my speeches by heart by now, having heard them a hundred times these last few months. "Thanks for trying, but yeah, it still hurts."
"I know," I whispered, thinking back to my own breakup, over a year ago now. My ex was my first everything—first boyfriend, first move-in partner, first heartbreak. We met as teenagers, and everything moved so fast, I didn’t see the cracks before it was too late. "But we’ve got each other, right?" I nudged him playfully.
He looked over at me, vulnerability softening his features. His nose was a bit big, a souvenir from a bully’s punch in his teens, but it suited him. Big expressive eyes, delicate eyebrows, full lips, and high cheekbones that caught the sunlight. When he smiled, those dimples stole the show.
"Yeah?" he said, hopeful despite everything. "Even if I wake you up with a feather that’s been up my ex’s bum?"
I rolled my eyes, pushing him lightly on the arm. "You’re a total fucker," I muttered, but the grin was back on my face as he dissolved into giggles again. "Remind me why I love you?"
Grinning, Zach fished his phone out of his pajama shorts’ pocket. "Because I’m adorable," he said distractedly, eyes glued to the screen. "Oh, my first caller of the day! And it’s Simon," he whispered conspiratorially as if Simon could hear. "Guy sounds like a whale when he cums, but damn, does he have a sexy voice."
I snorted as Zach answered the call, settling back against my pillows. Meanwhile, I stood up and headed to my wardrobe, already rehearsing my outfit in my head: leggings patterned with all kinds of vibrant flowers and a plain white tee to keep it casual.
"Mmm, that sounds so sexy, baby," I heard Zach purr from behind me, slipping easily into his client role. I couldn’t help but smile, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. Here we were—two phone operators sharing an apartment, talking dirty to strangers, and yet somehow, this was just normal life.
I turned my back to him, pulling off my shirt, but kept listening in. Zach's voice was low and sultry, perfectly at ease in his role. "I’d love to touch your nipples," he whispered with relish, getting into character. He genuinely loved this side of the job—the playful, adventurous part—whereas I was more reserved, preferring intimacy only when it came wrapped in real feelings.
He was a wild contrast, a free spirit who’d racked up more one-night stands than I cared to count, whereas I guarded my heart with a well-rehearsed armor.
The morning light continued to pour in, wrapping us both in its warm embrace, as our lives—complex, messy, and intertwined—rolled gently forward into the day ahead.