Too Sweet (for me)

Lost in a Haze

Atticus Finch takes his coffee black.

In his youth, sure, he may have added some sugar and maybe even a touch of cream. But that was not the case today. The world has put too much weight on his shoulders and his eyes to keep them open without substantial caffeine. Whether black tea or coffee, he needs something to quell the tiredness that seems to dwell in his very existence. Few things can nurse away the pull back into sleep and darkness. Coffee was one of them, his children of course, and something else. You.

You take your coffee with enough sugar and cream to compensate for multiple people.

He teases you about it of course, but secretly he enjoys the way it tastes on your tongue when he presses his lips to yours in the early morning light, shielded from all of the darkness that would cloud him in the day. Your coffee seemed to match you, he thinks whenever he pours his own into the mug and sees his reflection in the dark depths. You're soft, warm, and sweet. All the things that draw contrast to him in the best ways possible.

Occasionally, he sees you slip a bit of sugar into his coffee, thinking he's distracted with the newspaper or a book that appears to have his attention. That is before you caught it. Simply in your robe and sleep clothes or a dress, and better yet with nothing on, you steal his gaze every time. Unknowingly, or knowingly he thinks, you've got him wrapped around your finger. One that, preferably, he'll have a ring on sooner rather than later.

—-----

One morning in particular, you wake up to the soft sounds of birds chirping. Which normally would annoy you, but not today. Today, Atticus didn't have any appointments until the afternoon, meaning you had the whole morning to spend together.

Smiling to yourself, you feel warm skin around your waist and glance down to a pair of strong, tanned arms wrapped snugly around your torso, fingers brushing over your skin softly with every pass of breath. You can hear him too, a gentle sound of breathing by your ear, his face pressed slightly into your bed-tousled hair.

Mornings like this always plagued your mind when you tried to get work done around the house or even during the day when even the simplest of tasks would let your mind wander to moments spent with the man currently nestled into bed with you.

Carefully, you turn in his arms to face the beautiful face that makes your heart melt. His face is pressed slightly into the pillow, all the worry lines smoothed through sleep as he lays there peacefully. You wish the world wasn't so cruel to him sometimes. There were only so many bad endings he could take in his lifetime.

—-----

After Tom Robinson's case, he had come home with glassy eyes and a frown etched into his expression. That night, you had come to his doorstep with open arms and open ears as he simply took his rightful place in your arms.

On the sofa that night, you'd seen his composure break ever so slowly as he sunk into your embrace, tucking his face against your neck as small sobs wracked his body. You had never seen him so heartbroken over a case before, and rightfully so after what he had just gone through.

So, you sat on that couch with him, running your hands over his back and in his hair soothingly until the tears had dried on his cheeks. The look he gave you when he finally moved his face from your neck was what broke you. Eyes red and bloodshot, worry lines more prominent than ever. But you didn't let him dwell on that feeling as you kissed away the salty tears that remained on his cheeks and kissed the creases on his forehead and between his brows.

"It's going to be alright, Atticus", you had said softly, thumb stroking over his jaw while the other ran over his knuckles.

"Here, let me take you to bed...", standing with you, he had simply nodded and you both ascended the stairs before you helped him out of his suit and into some more comfortable clothes.