sunday morning {markle}

sunday morning

"That may be all I need. In darkness she is all I see. Come and rest your bones with me. Driving slow on Sunday morning, and I never want to leave."

He knew her routine like clockwork, and when he felt the bed shift, his internal clock woke him up. It was 6AM. Her mother would leave for her breakfast shift in an hour and a half, meaning he had to either be out on the fire escape watching for her to walk out the front door of the apartment complex or be gone completely by then. As his senses started coming back to him, he could hear the soft pinging of rain hitting the metal fire escape he'd soon leave from.

It was their usual Saturday night into Sunday morning ritual. His eyes opened slowly. He knew that she was probably still sitting on the edge of the bed, debating internally with herself on whether or not to get up or fall back in bed against him. It was a debate that played out in his favor a few times here and there, but usually she'd follow her schedule and get up, go into the bathroom for a while and then come back out looking less disheveled and in a pair of her pajamas as opposed to just his t-shirt...or nothing at all.

His eyes opened slowly as he pulled the covers that were pooling around his hips up over his bare chest as he glanced over at his girlfriend, sitting on the edge of the bed as he had predicted. It was still dark in the room itself, but from the window in her bedroom, the morning light was softly peaking in and casting softly on the girl. She was letting her hair out of the messy ponytail she'd tied it up in before they'd fallen asleep the night before. He lay mesmerized as her blonde tresses fell against her bare back. Today was one of those nothing at all mornings.

Maya Hart may be an artist, but to Farkle Minkus, she's the masterpiece.

He let out a sigh of contentment that he thought may be quiet enough to remain contained to himself, but Maya soon peered over her shoulder and offered him a small smile.

"Hey..." she said, her voice still keeping that groggy hoarseness that he found undeniably cute.

"Morning, gorgeous." He said smoothly, rolling over onto his side to get a better look at her.

"You're staring at me like you've never seen me naked before." She chuckled.

"Just because something's familiar doesn't mean that it loses its value or admiration." He replied.

"But...what was that...we were talking about in science...the concept of satire as a limitation?"

He couldn't help but let a warm smile cross his face. She was wrong, but she was trying. Her effort was appreciated and adorable. She was appreciated and adorable.

"Satiation" he replied with a breathy laugh.

"Whatever, same difference." She shrugged.

"Satiation occurs when a participant grows tired of the independent variable." He sat up and moved over closer to her, pressing his lips to her shoulder blade before letting his chin rest on her shoulder.

"You, I could never grow tired of." He smiled softly.

"Oh, really, because I think you got pretty tired of me that time we all watched Pochantas and I told you if you made one comment about it being historically inaccurate I was going to cuddle up with Riley and make Ranger Rick share." She fully returned his smile.

"I was way more tired of the movie than I was of you, Maya." He spoke with a smile still remaining on his face until his tone grew serious, his arms slipping around her waist to hold her close, "Seriously, though, I could never get tired of you."