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Chapter 19

Hey friends! If you like this, you should check out a fanfic that my friend IshipPhalentino started last month, called School's Out For The Summer :3 she's a really great writer and also an amazing person <3 so yeah, check it out!
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Waking up in another person's arms is a feeling very hard to describe without sounding cliché and cinch. Have you ever felt love explode inside your heart like a volcano, leaking down through your stomach and seeping all throughout your body? Has it ever suddenly occurred to you that not one human being on the planet was as happy as you were right in a certain moment? If not, it would be near impossible to convey the warmth, the sheer surreality of being so in love.

And we were in love.

His rich, messy brown hair was tangled up, and sticking to the pillowcase. Gingerly, I brushed it from his face, shivering at the feeling of Austin's soft exhales against my arm. His arms were wrapped around me, but not so tight that I didn't have a little room to squirm. Heat pulsed between us, and I huddled in closer to his chest, grinning to myself. With gentle lips, I kissed his forehead. It gave me that feeling, like when you take a big bite of frosting and your mouth tickles; oh, it was so lovely.

But I had become aware, ever so slowly, that I hadn't showered in over a day, so I slipped from safety of his grip. Placing a pillow in his arms to fill my spot, I started to leave, but turned around when he groaned quietly. I watched in awe as he stirred and pulled it closer to himself, planting a small kiss on it's crown and drifting back to deep sleep. My heart thumped real hard at that: a pure, honest act of love. It didn't need anyone else's eye to exist, and that, to me, was beautiful. After another minute of observation, I snuck out and down the hall, into his bathroom. It was time to get a nice, hot shower.

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After having my fill of steamy, relaxing water, I pulled on one of Austin's shirts that I'd grabbed on the way out. It was soft, forest green and kind of sensitive-looking. Three little buttons were stitched in at the top, and it's short sleeves were rolled up once and sewed in place. Of course, it swallowed up my frame, but something inside me came alive and warm from looking at myself in his clothes. Tugging on a pair of grey boxers, my bare feet slapped a little against the floor as I skittered back quickly, already getting cold without the hot water or his arms.

Back in Austin's room, I smiled at the smell of his cologne and summer air, and began to approach his bed again.

But something stopped me.

There he laid, tangled in the sheets and blankets, peeping and snoring softly. His lips pulled up so gingerly at the edges, clutching the pillow to his chest desperately. My eyes zeroed in on him completely, pupils dilating and heartbeat making my whole body shudder with it's force. My body didn't want to leave, to move from this person who made my insides so warm and happy. Slowly, though, I tore myself from him and backed away, closing the door as quietly as I could manage and tiptoeing downstairs.

The bottom floor was doused in early morning light, and it stung my eyes as I floated through the family room and into the kitchen. His fridge hummed, and I liked the sound. It reminded of the noises in my room at night, the melodic rumble of machinery in the room besides mine. Opening the door, I was met with cool air, and searched for a while before pulling out eggs, cheese, and bread. Then ensued The Huge, Ridiculous Search For Pans in Austin's Kitchen, in which I was as quiet as I could be in order to not spill a bunch of dishes and wake my love, who still slept upstairs. Wrapping my hand around a pan, finally, I slid it out of the cabinet and put it on the burners.

There were chickens on the handle of the pan. Thank you, Mrs. Carlile.
Spraying a considerable amount of cooking spray to the pan, I began heating it up. Cooking wasn't my greatest asset, but I could make him some decent scrambled eggs, at least. My mom taught me all the right spices to use, and exactly how much cheese would make it taste amazing. Austin loved food, any kind of food at all, and I knew that, and I wanted to make him happy. Was it a symbol of love to hand someone food and smile? Did it convey my deepest feelings to make breakfast for him? All I could think about was how nice it would be to wake up to a piping hot plate of eggs and toast, and how special and happy he'd feel.