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22 | breakfast tray

There's this moment, in the second you wake up, when you have to recall who you are and what the hell you're doing in this position, in this house and in this bed.

Those moments are fragile – because, for one tiny second, you have no idea who you are or why you're here. Then, everything that's happened leading to you ending up in this particular position comes over you like a flash of lightning, and you're back to where you were when you fell asleep. Knowing, in control.

It usually just takes a quarter of a second.

But this morning, it takes eight seconds for me.

At first, I don't recognize the odd shape lying with its back against me in my bed. But when yesterday's actions flash by in my brain, I open my eyes wide. It's London.

I get up from bed.

On tiptoes, I sneak out of the room, choosing the floorboards that isn't creaking as I snake my way down the stairs to the kitchen.

I pour up a glass of juice.

I roast a sandwich and put some butter and two slices of cheese on top.

I pick a patterned wooden tray from a just-like-wooden cabinet and put the breakfast on it.

Adding a white napkin to the side of the plate, I admire my creation for a couple of seconds.

Then, I dash up to my room again.

Quietly, I put down the tray on the floor next to the door and walk over to the bed. London's still sleeping, her hand reaching out in the air next to the wall, searching for a safety that isn't there. An overwhelming urge to take her outstretched hand grabs me, but I don't, because I don't want to disturb her sleeping.

Instead, I sit down at my desk chair, looking at her. Her curls spread over the pillow is the only thing I can see, together with the body underneath the duvet heaving up and down with her breaths. After a couple of seconds, I realize it's probably a really creepy action, and look away.

I pick up my earphones from a drawer and put them in my ears. Scrolling through my phone, I realize I have no proper playlists to put on. So I start arranging one; adding some Arctic Monkeys songs, and some by that band TV Girl that was the first London recommended. I add some songs that pops up on "recommended" as well, and search on "rock" and "indie" as keywords to find more songs.

I name it London, because she'll never find my account anyways.

My username is heartzforghibli, because I used to love Studio Ghibli movies. I don't really know if I do anymore. I've just been to lazy to change it.

The most important thing is that no one recognizes my account, however.

As I'm adding some songs by an artist called Mitski, a movement makes me look up over the edge of the screen.

"Where..." is a muffled voice heard from the bed.

I stand up, put my phone in my back pocket and walk over to her. Standing there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do with my hands, I say:

"You're here. I mean, you're in my house, you came here yesterday and..."

"Oh" says London.

"I know" I say, putting my hands in my pockets. "Will... I mean... I prepared some breakfast for you."

I make a half-hearted gesture towards the tray next to the door, and London's eyes widens.

"Is that... for me?" she says, like she can't quite believe it.

I roll my eyes, amused. "No, it's for the monsters under my bed. Yes, idiot, it's for you."

To my surprise, London's eyes tears up.