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Perhaps I'm just selfish, but I feel as though a beautiful wake up call is in order after the beautiful night I just had—one in which the sound of birds chirping euphoniously outside my window gradually nudges me into consciousness and I waltz over to my curtains, gracefully pulling them open, allowing the sun to shine in all of its brilliance, filling my room and warming my skin as I take a deep breath in and absorb all of the world's beauty.
But I don't get any of that.
Instead, I'm woken up by a blaring alarm clock that causes me to shoot up with wide eyes—in a very ungraceful fashion—and the limited amount of space on my bed, given Elliot's presence in it, makes it all too easy for me to fall right out of it and face first on my carpet with a loud squeal.
As I fall, I hear Elliot wake with a start, probably in response to the cacophony of sound overwhelming my room at the moment. I reach up and punch my alarm clock until it stops beeping and let out a sigh of relief, allowing myself to slump back down into the carpet. I sit up, lean against the side of my bed, and pull my hair out of my face into a ponytail.
I hear Elliot adjusting himself on my bed and eventually he comes into view as he leans over the side. He laughs and I look over at him slowly. "Does this typically happen every morning?" He furrows his eyebrows and I can't help but laugh as well.
"No. Typically, I wake up long before my alarm goes off. I don't even know why I set it anymore. My circadian rhythms are basically set in stone. I don't know what threw them off."
Elliot pouts his lip in thought. "Maybe your body just needed more sleep. Or perhaps you were too comfortable in your bed and your body wouldn't allow you to wake up."
Both are entirely possible. I went to bed much later than usual, but I've gone to sleep even later and still woken up before my alarm clock. I think my body just recognized the fact that it was having the best sleep of its life and it didn't want to interrupt it too soon.
If I'm being honest with myself, I don't think I've slept that well since I was a baby. That's not because I'm a restless sleeper or anything, but I just felt so content and so safe laying next to Elliot that I never wanted to leave. I'm not about to tell him that though.
"Last night was fun." He beams with a boyish grin and stands up. I look down at my hands and blush, nodding in agreement.
Glancing up, I gasp upon seeing Elliot shirtless. I only felt his bare chest last night, but even then I was too tired to actually appreciate it. Holy cow. He's beautiful. The tattoos that illustrate his torso and his arms are poetic and not overwhelming. His muscles, though well-sculpted, are not bulky or intimidating. Elliot is perfect.
He notices me ogling him and glances down at himself. "Am I distracting you?" He laughs at me and I shake my head, ridding it of its embarrassing thoughts.
I clear my throat awkwardly and bite my lip. "Sorry. I like your tattoos." I say and mentally face palm. He knows I was staring. Why try to hide it?
He traces his fingers over them carefully and smiles. "Thank you very much. Do you have any?"
