It's Like Rain (Orlando Bloom/OC)

Chapter 9: Realizations, Incidents and Decisions

"Love is an act of endless forgiveness,

a tender look which becomes a habit"

5:01 am Thursday morning the alarm wakes me up with a startle. It seems that it is fast becoming a bad habit.

I groan, and try to turn around and scramble up, but something heavy lies on my waist, pulling me down. I'm used to wake up alone, save for a hungry cat or a rather enthusiastic dog, so in that fret of a moment, I can't remember where I am or why the heavy object is there, or better yet, what it is, but then, slowly my brain starts to work and I begin to remember.

I flew back from London last night, the heavy object is Bloom's arm and I'm at home.

Another second later that arm of Bloom's reaches for the cell of his to stop the hellish racket of the alarm. And as he reaches out, he fumbles to find his phone, almost dropping the full content of my night stand, including a vintage lamp that belonged to my grandmother. She would so return back to haunt me if it was broken. It takes a full-on 30 seconds for him to find the correct button to stop the awful sound. Then, he rolls back in, his hold of my waist tightening and pulling me closer.

Jet lag – must be catching up on us, because I feel too tired to open my eyelids, let alone move a muscle to get out of the bed.

Either that or it is just way too early to wake up.

Nevertheless, jet lag combined with some sex and four hours of sleep isn't a good combination for anyone, least for me. I knew there was a reason why I hated to fly. Very groggily I try to find my cell, watch or either the clock radio of mine to see what time it is, but I can't see crap in the darkness of the bedroom.

"What time it is?" I ask huskily.

He kisses my shoulder and whispers, "5 am."

Did he actually put the alarm on at five in the morning? Oh, God, this is so depressing. Besides, it's not fair that he is so chipper this early in the morning where as I would rather sleep some more.

Groaning, I pull the blanket over my head and try very hard to pretend that I did not stir awake to the sound of the alarm. He chuckles, and pulls the covers aside gently, then rolls me less eloquently around until I smack against his chest, side and stomach.

"What are you doing?" I ask when his arm coils from under me and finds a resting place on my back and my side. I tilt my head to look at his face, as my head lies against his shoulder. He proceeds to slowly stroke my hair and my back.

"Nothing, Baby," he rasps an answer, although his grin would suggest other wise.

"It's way too early," I mumble.

"Yeah, it is," he groans back, "Especially when considering how little of sleep we had."

He might actually be as tired as I am! Hooray!

Well, not 'hooray' so much. I try, I honestly do, try my very best to pretend that this morning isn't the morning when he's going to have to fly to LA. Not a good morning for me. Not at all. After all, I'm left alone with mixture of feelings and not all of them are fuzzy, loving ones.

"And whose fault's that?" I mutter, and try to get myself in a better position, but no avail.

"Ours?" he chuckles, asking.