Chapter 11 Ben
Ben
Our routines merge faster than I expect.
Felix likes music in the morning. I like silence. So he uses headphones, but he dances anyway, shaking his ass while putting away groceries like the kitchen is a stage.
I pretend not to notice. Until I do. And then I do more than notice.
One morning, I walk in to find him sitting on the counter eating a banana, legs swinging, t-shirt rucked up over one thigh. He looks up, mouth full, and says, “What?”
I cross the kitchen in three strides, pull him down, and kiss him so hard we both forget what time it is.
We’re almost late for the café. We don’t care.
Nights are worse. Or better, depending on your perspective.
We can’t keep our hands off each other. He climbs into my lap while I’m trying to read. I push him over the back of the couch while the kettle’s on. He moans into my mouth like he belongs there. He does.
Once, I try to be good and go sleep on the couch to give him space for a single night.
He follows five minutes later and drops into my lap with a growl.
“You’re not allowed to sleep without me anymore,” he says.
And I don’t argue.
It’s domestic. It’s chaotic. It’s completely not me.
And I like it.
I like his stupid humming and his sock pile and the way he steals all the hot water and leaves his toothbrush next to mine like it’s always been there.
I like that he says good morning every day like he means it.
I like him.
That’s the scariest part. Just how easy liking him is.