Our Symphonies | satosere

26 ;

「 twenty-six 」

"that's much better"

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Someone had veiled the windows before it was morning, and thus blinding sunlight wasn't the first thing I caught after waking up.

I thanked the person in secret, removed my blanket, and an overwhelming ache spread all across my back as I sat up straight. Not being used to sleeping on the floor was paying off—maybe the living room couch would've been way better than the futon.

There was a medley of noises that came from the cracked doorway: melamine utensils, running tap water, and breads popping out from the toaster.

I fixed my hair and stood barefoot, the vinyl flooring chilly against my toes.

Under the blue mist of the light filtering through the curtains, Ash's room looked lived-in. There were framed posters of vintage musicians: from Nirvana to Arctic Monkeys, The Chicks to Avril Lavigne and Taylor Swift. Customized ukeleles and guitars hung on faded white walls, there were old timber shelves, and wicker chairs. His room was so undeniably indie.

Not sure who was I anticipating to find at the little circular table outside, but there sat a bleary-eyed May. Half of her face was hidden by the tea mug's rim, from which she sipped.

My breaths hitched upon flashbacking to the night before and Oh, Serena, you were so goddamn bitchy to her.

I nervously took the opposite chair, and the brunette, much to my pleasant surprise, tilted her lips in a sunny curve. "Morning, Serena Bun." She greeted, kind as ever.

There was a honey bottle, two other mugs of steaming Earl Grey, toasted brown breads, and an open container stuffed with truffle cake (from her birthday party) aligned on the table.

More utensil noises from the kitchen depicted that Ash was still busy toasting bread, or perhaps preparing something more for breakfast. First-time formalities forced me to sit down and not help him with the chores. (I don't think he was gonna let me do it in the first place.)

"Good morning." I twiddled my fingers and beamed back at her, the knot of regret making me clear my throat. "May, about last night—"

"It wasn't your fault," She cut me off in a beat, though her tone wasn't snappy. Apologetic, rather. "I was the one who shoved the gratitude at you in the first place, and it was later on that I realized how much unneeded it sounded. I was just being extra."

I shook my head and let the words sink in, absorb them like the direct sun rays from the porch windows.

"Yesterday in itself was too extra. But nobody can dare blame it on you, May," I took a tea mug for myself, but never shifted my gaze from the brunette. "All you did was look out for your friend, and that's not something one should be apologizing for."

I paused in order to take a sniff of strong caffeine and citrus, my shoulders sagging. "And the reason why I had snapped wasn't intentioned to make you feel bad. I was just. . ." I revised my words, inhaling. "There was too much on my plate, you know? I'm so sorry if you felt bad. I swear I didn't mean it." There. I said it.

And May's response was the most lightweight I'd ever expected, because She spilled into laughter, like a miniature starburst, and only paused to wave a hand dismissively, shrugging off my apology.

"I'm pretty sure you didn't mean it Serena. And on second thoughts," She crumpled an imaginary paper ball and threw it somewhere far away, huffing. "Now that's much better." A chuckle slipped from my own lips, sloppy yet easy like this late Sunday morning.