SHAMELESS, lewis hamilton¹

31

Mirabella's eyes fluttered open, then they shut again.

She had slept peacefully through the entire night. And she knew it was because he was right there next to her. A part of her felt like she should be embarrassed about it, but she didn't want to be. So, she wasn't.

She did notice his arms, which were wrapped around her and his chest her head was using as a pillow. She felt too comfortable for her own good. If she could stay right there, wrapped in his embrace, for the rest of her life, then she would.

But her day had to start at one point.

She managed to look at him and saw that he was sleeping peacefully. It was so strange sometimes seeing someone when they're sleeping, at their most vulnerable. Any hint of stress in their lives wasn't evident on their face at all. Every line was smooth and soft, totally relaxed. No frowns or wrinkles. Not that he had much of them. Lucky bitch.

Mirabella slowly but surely tried to move out of his embrace, but even through his sleep, his hold on her tightened, keeping her locked in place. She wished he would just let go and she wouldn't be questioning so hard whether she should just stay right there for the rest of the day.

But she knew she needed to wake up fully at some point, so she believed that it would be easier to wake up now, rather than later when it will definitely be harder to find the willpower.

She managed it, after a while. She did regret it though, the second she left his embrace the coldness returned to her body and she had hurried to the bathroom to stop herself from going right back.

Now however, after having gotten ready and changed into a pair of shorts and a baggy Nirvana t-shirt, with a red bikini underneath in case she wanted to take a dip in the pool at one point, she was making breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast for herself and tofu grilled toast with cream cheese and tomatoes for the vegan.

She was almost lost in it, barely noticing him enter.

"Hey," he uttered softly as he passed her and stopped next to her.

She glanced at him, seeing him leaning against the counter, watching her. She looked back at the food. "Hi."

"You know," he started, catching her attention. "You don't have to make breakfast for me. I could do it myself, you don't have to."

She almost laughed. "You're serious?"

He shrugged with a tilt of his head that could only be described as a type of nod.

She turned towards him, giving him a look, "Last time you tried to make something you fucked it all up."

"I did not," he denied immediately.

"Yes, you did."

He gave her a look this time, telling her, "On your terms, sure. But in real life, nothing was wrong with it."

"Everything was wrong with it."

He sighed and muttered under his breath, "Not this shit again."

She began rambling about everything that was wrong with his cooking and all he could do was stand there and take it. He felt his lips twitch upwards in amusement as he listened to the way her Italian accent became more prominent and the way she accidentally let slip a couple of words from her native tongue. He was pretty sure there were some Turkish ones too.

"Sweetheart," he murmured lowly, catching her attention and stopping her rant.

"Hm? What?" she snapped at him after she let out a hum.

He didn't say anything, just nodded down towards the stove and her eyes widened, a small noise of panic or something else slipping from her lips. She stirred the contents as she turned the heat down a little. Then she slapped the back of his head, hard enough to make him let out an 'ow' and hold his hand over the spot. He gave her accusing eyes and the only response she had was, "Your fault."