BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

7 - pete townshend

For the kind @magiuneration! Thank you for your request, dear! I've been waiting so patiently for a Pete request!
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Rain pattered steadily on the windows, the beginnings of a burst of fall showers that had been expected to drench London in the coming weeks. Though the city was dismal, you couldn't find it in you to be very depressed. Not when Pete had just gotten home from a tour and was buried beneath the mountains of blankets on your bed.

You had awoken within the bony cage of Pete's arms, a sleepy smile gracing your face at the feeling of his body against yours. It had been so long since you'd last touched.

The night he came home had been a joyous one. You had cooked Pete's favorite meal and fallen asleep with his head in your lap as you watched TV. You couldn't remember how you both ended up in bed again, but the thought of Pete trying to carry you up the stairs made your grin wider.

Cautiously, you wriggled about in Pete's grip, hoping to worm your way free. You managed to turn yourself around to face him, your hands resting on his chest with a feather-light touch. Pete hadn't startled, too worn out from the long days and nights on the road.

You admired his gentle features, across the slope of his brow to the curve of his nose, following the line of his cheekbones. His eyelids fluttered as he slept. You could make out the darkness of rings forming beneath his eyes. Pete didn't ever sleep well while he was away.

Deciding you'd get started on a celebratory breakfast, you worked to extract yourself from Pete's arms. It was a painstaking process. Each time you shifted a limb, Pete would groan and mutter something beneath his breath, on the precipice of waking up before settling back down.

Minutes passed before you had removed yourself. You sighed in relief, watching fondly as Pete flung his arm across your place in bed, grunting something that sounded a lot like a complaint. Part of you longed to join him in bed, but you had your mind set on a proper English breakfast.

Pete had always been thin and gangly. However, he came home looking emaciated, his ribs able to be seen through his skin with each intake of breath. You would be having words with whoever allowed his starvation to go on, but for now you focused on filling Pete up. What easier way than eggs, sausage and bacon?

The rain was beating down upon the roof with a ferocity by the time you had thrown on a dressing gown and entered the kitchen. You worried the electricity might go out. If it kept going at this rate, your back garden would flood out. You didn't dare peek out the window, not wanting to see the damage done to your poor marigolds.

You distracted yourself by gathering up the eggs, making a mental check of all the ingredients you needed. It had been too long since Pete had been home for breakfast. You weren't sure if he'd be home tomorrow, with recording being so hectic lately. Maybe you could send him off with a nice packed lunch.

The process of frying up the eggs and bacon was methodical and soothing, something you were used to. You remembered the first time that you and Pete had gone on a date. How nervous he'd been. You couldn't admit that your hands shook just as badly.

It was a small family restaurant with sticky wooden tables and leather seats that stuck to the skin of your legs when you tried to get up. Pete had looked at you with bashful eyes, blurting out that he'd enjoy an English breakfast.

You remembered giggling at him, telling him that it was half past two in the afternoon. You both ended up sharing a heaping plate, ignoring the funny looks people gave you as they walked by.