Kismet

Chapter 19- The Flame and The Fan

Mondays are the bane of my existence.

It doesn’t matter that I got to sleep an extra hour. It doesn’t matter that I slept better than I had in years. It doesn’t matter that I had a great weekend or that the workload should be light this week.

Mondays are still Mondays, and I hate them.

It seems JK agrees. As much as I appreciated his strong arms yesterday when he was bringing in all of our bags, I find them quite annoying when they have me pinned to his chest as my alarm sounds on the bedside table. Is that really not waking him up? Is he just pretending not to notice me tugging his arm so I can get up?

“JK,” I say as I poke his cheek. He twitches slightly but no other response.

“JK!” I say louder. Running my fingers through his hair. That earns me a groan, but the man is still clearly asleep. How did he manage to wake himself up each morning before to drive himself here when he sleeps like the dead?

I try and roll my body away from him, but he just holds on tighter. Next, I try shaking him, which only makes him readjust to lay on his back instead, taking me with him, so I’m half on top of his chest.

“JK, I’m going to be late for work. We need to get up!”

One eye peaks open, and thankfully I’m released from my cage so I can turn my alarm off.

“Come on, wolf-boy, as much as I’d love to stay home today, we’ve got to get moving.”

I go straight to my vanity to start my morning routine. It’s kind of strange being able to sleep this late, but I’m not complaining. I wish it was always like this.

JK wanders past me to the kitchen. I smell coffee start to brew, and I smile to myself.

“What’s got you smiling like that first thing in the morning?” he asks with a soft and raspy voice from just waking up. He stands behind me and starts running his fingers through my hair to get the tangles out gently.

“Just you. Thank you for making the coffee,” I tell him. I really want him to know that I appreciate the way he cares for me. Not just in the emotional sense, caring, but the actual actions of caring for me.

He says nothing to that, just smiles sleepily and grabs some pins to pull my hair back from my face.

Thinking back, I don’t remember the last time I had been taken care of quite as thoroughly as this. Not just the coffee or the hair but also the way he makes sure I don’t have to carry anything too heavy. He asks me how I’m feeling and really listens when I talk. He worries about my safety and takes actionable steps to make me happy.

It’s not really a man’s words or even his actions themselves that define him for who he is, but his patterns. JK is always consistent and dependable in that regard.

Of course, this isn’t the usual case with Bran. I’m accustomed to being the one taking care of him. I make the coffee, I cook the meals, I clean the home, and I do the budgeting. That’s just our life. I came into that role easily, though, because that’s been my life ever since I was a child.

I’ve been cooking since the age of 8. My parents divorced when I was 5, and with my mom working 3 jobs and putting herself through school so she could afford to raise me, I had to take on a lot of responsibilities myself. Cooking, cleaning, a lot of that fell on me.

My mother was and is a great mother, she loved me enough to make up for my lack of a proper father figure, but that didn’t stop me from growing up a bit earlier than most. Even in my teens, I was the “mom” of my friend group, making sure everyone got home safe from parties and kept everyone out of trouble.