I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME | ✓

▬ 04: demolish

            I only wake up when Ziri's toes root into the dip of my hip to kick my lower body off the bed. The bubble around my head pops; his groaning and the s'posedly cheerful jingle from my phone avalanche onto me at once.

'Your alarm's been ringin for like ten minutes.'

'Sorry.' On my knees beside the bed, I fumble for my phone and turn it off, apologies streaming out of me all the while.

Ziri, who has his pillow clamped over his head, rolls over to face the wall. 'Every frickin morning.'

I wish I could argue but my alarms wake him up reet faster than me on most mornings. In Ziri's words, I sleep like a brick. The jingles just incorporate into my dream as some silly background music that my dream-self never questions. I've gone through all the sounds on my phone! Ziri, on the other hand, used to wake up to every flatmate's alarm when he lived in halls for the first two years of uni until he'd had enough and we got this place together.

But today's different. I'm always difficult to wake up, but when I wake up, I'm awake. Now, sleep still lathers half of my mind like gunk from a low-budget horror film. I could close my eyes and fall right back into unconsciousness, on the floor, propped up against the side of the bed.

Even as I wash my face with cold water, the fatigue persists. Am I getting the flu? Unlikely; I never get ill and I have no other symptoms.

When I leave the bathroom, Ziri's in the kitchen, which only makes me more disoriented. I didn't hear owt. How did I not hear owt? I didn't even shut the door, I should've heard summat if he's been cooking. What's wrong with my head this morning? Is it even safe for me to drive?

Ziri smiles when he looks up. He gives no sign of irritation from being woken up at 5 am again. 'I made you breakfast.' He gestures at the plate of fried eggs and toast on the table. 'And your coffee.'

'Why are you up?'

He screws the lid on the thermos cup. 'I'm awake now, innit. Might as well pray.'

Carrying the thermos to the table, Ziri pulls out my chair for me — because I'm still hovering — and sits down in his usual seat with the corner between us. He keenly watches me eat the first bite and beams when I tell him it's good.

But he shifts in his chair, waiting for summat. His hands tangle into the chain of his cross necklace. 'What about tomorrow night?'

'Tomorrow night?'

'For sex,' he says. 'We could... wank each other off or somethin.'

I take a generous bite of toast to hopefully disguise how stunned I am. Can you plan sex like this? Don't it just happen how it happens and you go along with it? Won't he think it's less romantic if it's not spontaneous? Sex is always spontaneous in romance movies.

As I commit to my silence, Ziri rambles about sixty-nine and how he's never understood how that works. 'Like wouldn't the person under get neck pain real fast? And does the person on top have to like plank the whole time? Cause I ain't got the abs for that! And what if they get tired and fall down and force the person under to like... deepthroat their whole penis? Unless, of course, they have a vagina in which case there wouldn't be a choking hazard involved. But still, it can't be comfortable for anyone. Maybe I just can't visualise it right but like, no chance that works. You'll have to draw me a visual aid–'

'Tomorrow's good,' I interrupt. 'I work in't evening so I'll only be home around nine if that's okay.'

'Okay.' He shifts around, clearly nervous but his smile suggests it's mostly excitement. 'Kiss?' I move closer so he can press one to my cheek. 'Have a good at work, mon lapin.'