Her life! GxG! Intersex! (Book 1)

110

The laughter between them slowly faded into an easy quiet, the kind that only came when the weight of the day was behind them. Emma finished the last grape, wiping her fingers on a napkin before stretching with a little groan.

"Come on," she said softly, brushing a hand against Abigail's arm as she stood. "Let's go lay down. You've had a long day."

Abigail smiled, sliding off the stool to follow her. They walked side by side down the hall, Emma leaning against her just enough to make Abigail slow her pace. When they reached the bedroom, Abigail helped Emma settle under the covers, smoothing the blanket over her before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"I'll be right there," Abigail whispered. "Just need to get my things ready for tomorrow."

Emma's eyes softened as she sank into the pillows. "Okay. Don't be long."

Abigail crossed to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer where her favorite jeans and tops were neatly folded. She held one shirt up, then another, tilting her head in thought. Tomorrow was Tuesday English Composition & Writing Workshop in the morning, Music History: 20th Century & Beyond in the afternoon. Both were classes she actually looked forward to, ones where she didn't feel the weight of someone's eyes on her the whole time.

She laid out a pair of light-wash jeans, a soft white tee, and her favorite denim jacket—comfortable, casual, and just enough style to feel like herself. On the chair by her desk, she set her notebook and laptop for Composition, then slipped her music journal into her bag for History.

Behind her, Emma's breathing had already evened into that soft, steady rhythm that told Abigail she was drifting off again. Abigail glanced back, smiling at the sight, and whispered to herself, "Ready for tomorrow."

She dimmed the bedside lamp, slid under the blanket, and curled against Emma, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before letting her own eyes close.

The soft chime of her phone alarm stirred Abigail from sleep. She blinked against the faint morning light slipping through the curtains, stretching slowly before rolling out of bed. Emma was still curled beneath the blanket, breathing steady, lost in dreams.

Abigail smiled at the sight for a moment, then moved quietly across the room, careful not to wake her. She slipped into the clothes she had laid out the night before—light-wash jeans, a soft white tee, and her denim jacket draped across the chair. Running a brush quickly through her hair, she tied it back in a loose ponytail.

By the time she padded into the kitchen, the apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge. She opened it and began pulling things out with practiced ease—eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and the waffle maker she kept tucked on the counter.

First, she cracked eggs into a skillet, the sizzle low and comforting. She scrambled a portion for herself with peppers and cheese, wrapping it into a warm tortilla for a quick breakfast burrito. As it cooled, she whisked together the waffle batter—eggs, milk, flour, and just a touch of vanilla—pouring it into the preheated waffle maker. The kitchen filled with the sweet, golden smell as the batter crisped into fluffy squares.

She plated them neatly, topping them with a pat of butter and a drizzle of syrup. On the side, she arranged crispy bacon strips, a small bowl of strawberries, blueberries, and melon, and a pile of scrambled eggs—soft and fluffy, just the way Emma liked them.

Within minutes, the counter was covered in small plates. Abigail arranged everything onto a tray, balancing the mix of sweet and savory. She added a glass of orange juice, wiped her hands on a towel, and carried it carefully back toward the bedroom.