Lonely Hearts (Porter Robinson Fanfiction)

Pancakes & Party Plans

i had a little of writers block while writing this, but i hope you'll forgive me :) thanks for the reads and reviews, it means a lot to me no matter how many of you read this. it just takes a second to drop by and leave a comment, and to vote! xxx

also, this chapter is very fluffy ;)

I woke up the next morning to Porter curled up at my side, his arm draped around me. His dark brown hair was messy and tousled around his face, his eyes were shut, his breathing slow and steady.

He was so, so beautiful.

I know that's weird to say something about a guy - but just looking at him struck something in my heart.

Fighting the urge to look away, I gently forced myself from the couch and let the blanket fall back on him. He looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb him. I made my way to the kitchen and decided to cook us both breakfast. I tried searching the cabinets for pancake mix, and my eyes fell upon a box labeled with with the components I was searching for. I grabbed it and read the instructions, measuring water and mixing it altogether in a pan on the stove. I normally didn't cook, if you hadn't noticed. I usually had Easy Mac, which I had been eating an unusually large amount of lately.

A warm, soft aroma filled my nose and I reached down to flip the pancakes with my spatula. After a few minutes, they were done, and I plopped the fluffy, warm goodness that was the successful result of my cooking onto a plate. I turned to the fridge and opened it, searching for the syrup, then turning around back to the pancakes.

A person was standing at the counter, patiently waiting with a smile on their face. I screamed.

"Dammit, Porter!" I breathed, pushing him with weakness called my arm strength. He laughed loudly, and I closed my eyes, sighing.

When I opened them, he was standing there, staring back at me compassionately. His hair was mussed, like he had ran a hand through it, and he had his arms crossed across his torso. He reached a hand down and tore off an edge of the pancake, sticking it in his mouth and savoring the taste, then swallowing it. "Hmm," he said. "Pretty good."

His voice was husky, and I ignored my racing heart and burning emotions, grabbing classes from one of the cabinets in the room. He watched me, amused, as I poured orange juice into each of our glasses.

"You do realize it's like 12. It's a little late for breakfast." He said.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "It's never too late for breakfast."

He threw his hands up in the air. "Excuse me."
I set our plates down and cups, and he came and sat down with me at the table, picking up the glass of juice and chugging it. After swallowing it all, he put it down and with his sleeve, wiped it across the little shadow of mustache above his lip. He noticed me looking and grinned at me. "I was thirsty."

"You're always thirsty." I said, reaching for a pancake.

"Are you calling me a slut?" He asked, entertained by our banter.

"Nope." I said sarcastically. "Eat your pancakes."
"Yes, mom." He said, pouring a dime-sized amount of syrup on his plate.

We ate in silence, the only thing heard the sound of our chewing and slurps of juice. I was starving from the events of yesterday, I wasn't too sure about him.

"I have to get back to the studio tomorrow." He said, looking up at me.

"What day is it?" I said curiously. I hadn't been to up to date for the past few days.

"It's Sunday." He said. "January 22nd."

My fork scraped my plate, and I stood up to put my plate in the sink, him following.