Desire (wlw)

XXVIII.

Lea

I woke up to the golden glow of the morning sun peeking through the blinds. My eyes fluttered open, and it took me a moment to register the warmth pressed against my back. Isabel's arm was draped over my waist, her steady breathing tickling the back of my neck. I stayed still for a moment, even though my mind felt like it was swimming with thoughts.

Today was going to be busy. Rehearsal at noon, plus all the other things I'd put off during the weekend. I couldn't help but feel a knot in my stomach—not because of the workload, but because of her. Isabel. The girl who drove me crazy in every possible way, who could make my heart race and my blood boil in the same breath. And now, here we were. Together. Kind of. Maybe. I wasn't even sure how to define us anymore, but I liked waking up next to her.

I shifted slightly, turning my head to look at her. Her long, dark hair was a mess, spilling across my pillow and framing her face. Her expression was soft, peaceful, and for a second, I allowed myself to just admire her. She stirred a little, mumbling something incoherent, and I smiled.

"Good morning," I whispered, my voice still husky from sleep.

She cracked one eye open and gave me a lazy smile. "Morning," she muttered, her voice even raspier than mine. Her arm tightened around my waist as if she wasn't ready to let me go just yet.

But I knew we had to get up eventually. "We should eat something," I said, reluctantly pulling away from her warmth and sitting up. My hair was a disaster, and I ran a hand through it, trying to tame it somewhat. Isabel groaned in protest, flopping onto her back dramatically.

"Do we have to?" she whined, one arm draping over her eyes.

I laughed softly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Yes, we have to. It's Monday, remember? Rehearsal's at noon."

She let out another groan but sat up, her hair falling over her shoulders in a way that made my breath catch. "Fine," she said, dragging herself out of bed.

We moved around my apartment in a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes with a certain level of intimacy. I brewed the coffee while she rummaged through the fridge, eventually settling on scrambled eggs and toast. We worked together in an unspoken rhythm, and soon enough, we were sitting across from each other at my small kitchen table, plates and mugs in hand.

Isabel glanced up at me between bites of her toast. "You're quiet," she said, her hazel eyes studying me. "What's on your mind?"

I shrugged, taking a sip of my coffee. "Just thinking about rehearsal. And everything else I need to get done today."

She tilted her head slightly, like she didn't quite believe me but wasn't going to push. "Yeah, same," she said, looking down at her plate. "Feels like there's a million things to do and not enough time."

I nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. Between school, rehearsals, and the complicated mess of emotions between us, it felt like there was always something demanding my attention. But sitting here with her, even in the midst of all the chaos, felt like a tiny moment of peace.

We sat together on my couch, side by side, the morning light filtering through the tall glass windows that gave a sweeping view of the city skyline. It was one of the things I loved most about my apartment—the way the sunlight poured in and made everything feel a little lighter, even on the heaviest of days.

Isabel was quiet, her hands clasped together in her lap, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if it held some kind of answer. I wanted to say something, anything, but I didn't want to push her.

Finally, she broke the silence. "I need to start making funeral arrangements," she said softly, her voice steady but strained.

I turned to look at her, her profile illuminated by the sunlight. She was so composed on the surface, but I knew the storm she was holding back.