Every Breath You Take [RDJ Fanfic] - COMPLETED

One Hundred Thirty

"So do I get to hear to the song?"

It's an innocent question, really, it is.  But the way he speaks it as he readjusts his pillow and tucks his arm under it to support his head makes me blush.

"You can listen to it," I answer softly, just barely a whisper.  "But I'm not going to play it."

"Why not?" he grins, showing off those stupidly perfect teeth.

"I dunno, I just..." I sigh, finally rolling over to face him, mirroring him in bed but keeping space between us so I can let my eyes wander over his uncovered torso.  "Let me play it for the label first, finalize some things..."

He smiles, but doesn't press it.  Instead, his hand wanders down my side and I glance down, thinking stupidly about what to say since we haven't really..talked since I got back.

"I'm glad you're back," he interrupts my thoughts, and I laugh lightly at that, raising an eyebrow when my eyes meet his again.  "Not...well, physically, here, but also, just you..."

"I know," I confirm.  "I'm sorry I left, I just..I'm overwhelmed."

He doesn't push, but does let me know I can talk to him, which I feel okay doing.

"I was upset about missing the Golden Globes," I tell him quietly, "like, extremely bothered by it, and at some point, I looked at the shirt I was wearing.  Just a normal shirt from the closet, something you got in New York or something, but it dawned on me that I was using this...this $500 t shirt for pajamas, and that just didn't make sense to me.  I never used to spend more than $20 on something like that, and now, well now, if I sold my entire closet, I could literally buy my house in Pittsburgh."

"So...no more expensive shirts?" he questions, puzzled.

"I feel like I don't know who I am anymore."  It's a whisper, and sad, but also a weight off my shoulders.  "So I went home to try to find that.  Here, we have this huge house, staff to take out our trash and clean up after the animals, people who drive me to the office every day or to the dance studio, and I'm getting too used to it. Too used to expecting this treatment when it should still feel like a blessing."

"You can have these things without losing yourself," he promises, tucking my hair behind my ear.  "You just have to find that balanced middle ground."

After a week following of recording the new stuff I wrote over the last few weeks away, my birthday rolls around, and with it, a very relaxing day at home.

It starts with me sitting up in bed around nine in the morning, confused as to why I slept so late, and Robert very loudly carrying a tray o dishes into the bedroom, fully awake and functioning.  I'm not sure what time he left bed, but it had to be at least an hour ago, if not more, to fully cook breakfast.

"Did you make me pancakes?" I question with a yawn, and he grins back behind his reading glasses, obviously looking at a cook book. 

"I did," he confirms proudly, then sets it down on the side table as I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress to face him.  "No staff, just me."

It's a joke, knowing I'm trying to be more relaxed at home since we talked, and that includes limiting the times that we have anyone in the house helping us clean up.  Anything that needs done overnight is my own job, and we agreed to that easily.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he smiles gently, and it kills my heart.

I can't help but take his hands in mine, squeezing lightly and smiling back up at him, very warm and happy.  "Thank you."

But then I pull him lightly, and  he hums suggestively, understanding.

"It's gonna get cold," he smirks.