The next morning at approximately 7:26 AM, I woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon.
I opened my eyes, squinting against the early light. Deciding it was too bright, I closed them and rolled over to face the other direction. I was met with an unexpected feeling of absence I couldn't place. I opened my eyes again, rubbing at them to get rid of the blurriness. The first thing I noticed was the empty space next to me. Michael wasn't there.
I sat up, clutching the sheets to my body as I looked around the room. I heard the clatter of metal coming from the kitchen. I searched around for something to put on. I snatched Michael's sweater off the floor by the side of the bed and pulled it on. At the same time, my bedroom door opened and a messy-haired Michael walked through, carrying a tray with two plates on it and a bottle of syrup.
"Damn it, I missed it." He frowned and shut the door behind him."
"Missed what?"
"You waking up." Michael smiled softly and sat down on the bed, placing the tray in between us.
"Well aren't you smooth?" I laughed and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. As I leaned away, I took notice of the food. "You cooked breakfast?"
"I guess you can call it that." Michael chuckled and I looked at the food again. The pancakes were terribly misshapen and in pieces. "I never knew how hard it was to make pancakes. But of course I know about bacon, who doesn't know about bacon. The bacon is fine... I'm pretty sure it is."
I shrugged and scooted closer to Michael who pulled me onto his lap. "Looks safe to me," I said as I observed the slightly burnt pieces of bacon. "I think you burned out anything bad."
"Give me a break, gosh!" Michael pouted, hiding his face in my neck. "I'm a man. Men suck at this."
"Debatable. You're more like a four-year-old." I poked his cheek and he smiled.
Michael lifted his head from my neck and smirked slyly. "Oh yeah? Could a four-year-old do what we did la-"
"Oh my god, shut up!" I laughed, and tore a piece of the messed up pancake off, stuffing it in his mouth.
"You know," Michael said through a mouthful. "There are other things that can shut me up better than pancakes."
"You cheeky bastard." I laughed as he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was short and sweet. It was all I needed.
"Just eat." Michael ordered, pulling the tray in between us and shoving a bottle of syup into my hands.
"This is safe, right?" I teased, covering my pancakes in syrup. Michael dropped his fork and his hands flew to his throat as he mimicked a gag. I covered my mouth and giggled and Michael laughed.
"Just try it," Michael pleaded, "please? I promise if you die I'll put your favorite flowers on your grave."
"But I plan to be cremated."
"I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up because that would be my excuse for not showing up."
"Wow, Michael! You wouldn't even show up for my service? Okay, I see how it is." I pouted and Michael snorted, resting his hand on my knee.
"I wouldn't show up for your service either because I wouldn't be able to leave the room you slept in every night, the place you lived in, or anywhere you were, or because I'd be six feet under already or sitting in an urn next to you."
I stared at Michael for a solid minute while he ate nonchalantly. "That was oddly romantic somehow and very creepy."
"Tim Burton style?" Michael asked, not even trying to make himself audible through the mouthful of food.
