[3] how did we end up here ;; nh

15 » Rough Sunday Morning

New York City, New York, United States of America, 11th September 2022

A ray of light come in from the two large windows in the apartment with curtains sliding to the side of the room, letting the light shine on me while cooking breakfast for someone on the loft level, who happens to be asleep until now. I crack an egg and put it in a frying pan on medium-low heat. I wait for about two minutes to cook it and as the round yellow yolk gives a sun-like appearance, I take it delicately and place it in a place that already contained toast, butter, bacon, sausages, baked beans, and grilled tomatoes.

The smell of the Irish breakfast combination that my mother usually makes smells very good, making me miss home even more. Making breakfast like this in the morning is my way of reminiscing about home when I'm homesick. I make another sunny-side-up egg, waiting for it for two minutes, and finally, put it on the other plate. As the main course for breakfast is ready to serve, I place them on the kitchen bar's table and make two cups of tea – waiting for Avril to wake up.

I believe that she must be really starving to death, it's 9 AM and I believe that she needs to have breakfast since last night she spends the whole time until 3 AM studying about her courses which requires her to work really hard to get an A or at least pass the course. Thus, I make time to make her breakfast in the morning, just like what I usually do since September 2021 – when Anne is busy with her lawyering career and we are, of course, not in a relationship. This morning, I wake up at 7 AM and go to the nearest groceries store wearing my mask so that no one will notice me as Niall Horan. I buy several groceries and store them in the fridge, I'm planning to cook for her – at least for dinner and breakfast.

Not wanting to make my tea cold, I take a sip of my tea; I don't really like tea with sugar because it disrupts the taste of the tea itself. The glimpse of tea that I sip warmth my throat, it feels so relaxing. I hold my cup of tea as I walk upstairs and sing, "Wake up, wake up, I make you breakfast," with a perfunctory tune. The line may seem terrible, but what I can promise you is that my voice sounds really good. I pass the X-Factor, mate.

As I come upstairs, Avril hasn't woken up yet. The sunlight is shining on her skin, including her closed eyelids, indicating how exhausted she is. Sitting on the side of her bed, the one that is next to her head, I take a moment to watch her asleep, under her unconscious, and can't be disturbed. Well, luckily she doesn't snore like Luke. She looks calm and exhausted at the same time.

"Avril, I make you breakfast, let's eat," I say in a soft tone, I place my tea on the nightstand and stroke her hair gently.

Both of her eyes open slowly, blink for a while, and they're fully open; she's finally awake. Avril rubs her eyes and groans as she stretches her body. "Good morning," she greets me with a smile.

"Good morning, lover," I answer, trying to annoy her with my answer.

Well, I know what she's going to do. Yep, she's punching me. She's punching my arm. I swear, if this is going to be taken into serious terms, then this is an act of abuse.

"Stop calling me lover."

"You're my fans, I'm calling them lovers."

"Shut up," she says, she turns around and puts a pillow on her ear.

"Avril, you need to eat."

"You're not my doctor."

Well, this is the most difficult thing when she's woken up. She can't comprehend what is going on for an hour and then tries to proceed an hour after she totally wakes up, which right now she hasn't fully woken up. Proof? Now she's asleep, again. "I'm cooking you a breakfast, Ave."

"Do you cook an egg?"

"Sunny side up egg, yes."

And now, she turns her body around me and gives me a big smile. "Let's have breakfast!"