I wake up, I turn to face the opposite side of the bed, I could still feel her warmth against the cold blankets. I shifted myself and turned on the lamp, casting a gentle tone under us and I saw her face became sharper, asleep.
I'm not dreaming. Heart is actually here, looking so ethereal right in front of me. Shit. One week, how can I maintain one week? I've already pushed her once, and the guilt ate me.
My hands were moving on instinct, with a mind of it's own to brush up her hair back to her ears, I could see her lips, now hydrated, her arms were hugged around my waist, and again, I pulled her close, against my body, where we felt our warmth against each other.
Fuck. I'm drowning the more I focus that I shouldn't. But she's just too irresistible, insatiable. She woke up, her eyes fluttered and her lashes batted up to me, "Hm." She streched her feet, stopped hugging me and swept the blanket off us, the sat and stood up, walked straight at the window.
She swayed the curtain windows, and the glorious sunlight touched luminously on her spot, portraying an angel, untouchable, I could brag to everyone I saw heaven without actually entering it.
Well, I did enter her.
"It's afternoon, I guess." She says and drops the curtain down, darkening the room again. I turned on the main lights, dimmed the room enough but it didn't fuck up our eyes. I also stood up, ready to take action for today.
The mornings with Heart had shifted in the strangest way. She didn't have clothes when she first arrived, so I lent her mine—my oversized shirts hanging off her petite frame, my sweatpants cuffed at her ankles. Eventually, I ordered her a set of clothes, and for once, the parcel actually arrived on time. It only confirmed my suspicion:
Elijah. That kid was definitely monitoring my orders, prioritizing sabotaging the beds over anything else.
When the delivery came, I took the box, shutting the gate firmly behind me, and returned to the house. Inside, Heart paced the living room in circles, her footsteps light but constant. It was an odd habit of hers, almost like she was mapping the space, staking her claim.
"How can you stay in this house? It's so gloomy!" she said, not in a complaining tone, but with curiosity, her emerald eyes flicking over every dark corner.
Then her gaze landed on the phonograph perched on the corner table. Her face lit up, a rare childlike excitement sparking in her.
"Wow! You have a phonograph?" she exclaimed, already making her way toward it.
"You've been circling my house all the time, ngayon mo palang napansin?" I say and she chuckled.
I watched as she crouched down, rifling through the vinyl collection underneath. Her fingers danced over the spines of the disks until she plucked one out triumphantly. Moments later, the smooth, brassy tones of "Fly Me to the Moon" filled the room. The melody swirled around us, softening the sharp edges of my space and making it feel... alive.
"Come," I said, tearing open the box of clothes. Heart skipped to my side, peeking into the box with unabashed curiosity, her wide eyes like a kid waiting to see what treasures Santa brought. Inside were folded essentials: shirts, pants, underwear, everything I thought she'd need. Her expression softened when she saw them.
"Try them on," I said.
She didn't hesitate, slipping on each piece to check the fit. The transformation was almost jarring. Her usual aura of chaos was tempered as she inspected herself in the mirror, each item fitting her perfectly.
