Foto bij 473. - Lucien

None of the titles Emma suggested told me anything, so I let her pick. I make it through maybe ten minutes before jet lag takes its toll; the only reason I'm still awake is an ungodly amount of coffee I chugged when first coming home. But now, with the slow-progressing movie with Emma's weight comfortably pressing against me, I keep drifting off. Short intervals, maybe a few seconds long, until I'm startled awake by Emma flicking her fingers against my jaw; I shoot up, disoriented, because I full on expected to wake up in my LA hotel room, but instead there's Emma face next to mine and a gently purring cat on my feet.
"I think it's time for bed." Emma smirks. "We're not watching this movie if you can't appreciate it. We'll try again when you're back for real."
"Mhmm." I yawn, rubbing my eyes. "I'm going to confiscate that time to watch my favourite movies. But bed," I yawn again. "sounds wonderful. Haven't slept more than maybe eight hours in the last two days."
Emma, holding my hand, leads me to the bedroom with a frown. "I know you love your job and all, but that sounds unhealthy."
"Flights." I mutter, like that explains everything. "Time differences. It'll get less frantic after these months, I promise."
She doesn't look convinced, but doesn't fight me on it. I don't think I could stay awake long enough to have an argument about it. Laying in our soft bed smelling of a mix of my favourite fabric softener and Emma's shampoo feels like heaven. Pulling Emma against me in that same bed feels like heaven multiplied. Our fingers tangle together underneath the covers; Emma presses a kiss to my knuckles. "Please tell me I'm not going to wake up alone tomorrow, that this was all a dream."
"I promise." I mutter. "I'm not going anywhere until I absolutely have to."

I wake early the next morning, because my internal clock is gloriously fucked. Emma is still asleep, tangled in the covers with her hair sticking in every which direction. Her mouth is hanging open slightly, which I really want to snap a picture off but I know she'll kill me if I do. So instead, I enjoy the view for a while. It's so mundane, so uneventful, but I have missed it so much.
At six thirty, forty-five minutes after I woke up, the alarm rings. Emma groans, rolling over to slam the snooze button. "I don't wanna." She says, pulling the covers over her head. I chuckle, gently tugging them back down.
"You're going to have to, if you want to spend the day with me." I say, kissing just below her ear. She only has a morning lecture, meaning she'll be available from around eleven. Yesterday we agreed that she was going to go to work anyway, since it was only one lecture.
She rolls onto her back, her face now inches below mine, and she offers me a sleepy smile. "I could just call in sick..."
"Oh, miss Middleton, imagine what your students might say when they find out when I was here." I scold. Emma, ever defiant, snakes an arm around my head and with her fingers tightly knotted in my hair, pulls me down so she can kiss me. The fight in me is immediately lost, and when her other hand runs down my naked chest I'm putty in her hands. I crawl over her, and the feeling of her bare skin against mine makes me shiver.
"Wait," She gasps after a few minutes. I grunt my displeasure, face buried in the crook of her neck, but she just laughs. "I need to call!"
"Whoever it is, they can wait." I state, kissing her collar bone. She shudders, but then pushes my face away from her.
"Oh, don't look so offended." She taps my nose. "Give me a second."
Maybe ninety seconds later, Emma's been noted as sick and she puts her phone aside again. I'm still hovering over her, impatiently waiting, when she grins at me and runs a thumb over my bottom lip. "Now, where were we?"
      It still feels a little surreal to have coffee in our own kitchen, with Emma at the counter wearing the fluffy white robe. She's humming along to the piano music we've put up, preparing herself breakfast. With the irregular life I'm currently living I'm sticking to my green smoothie as my one regular healthy thing, to Emma's great disgust.
"So," She smiles, setting her plate of eggs and toast down on the table. "is there any plans for the day? Any big romantic gestures?"
Frank, making his presence known by loudly screaming before jumping up on the table, is immediately lifted up by Emma and put back on the ground. It's such an automated movement that I can imagine it's how it goes every morning.
"Are you expecting me to top last year?" I inquire, and she grins.
"Can you?"
"Oh, definitely, but not on such short notice." I shake my head with a laugh. "No romantic gestures. I figured maybe a picnic at Holyrood park, if the weather will allow it. I think I saw an advert for an antiques and crafts market, so maybe we could stroll there. But I don't really care. We could also stay in and watch more movies, or bake and cook together. I don't care." I take her hand over the table, running my thumb over the now two rings on her finger. "I just want to spend time with you. And in the end, I'm here for your birthday. Whatever you say, goes. Even if that means I'm going to be stuck on the couch watching you fall in love with Julia Roberts all day long."
She grins at me. "Lucien du Castellon, you are not jealous of Julia, are you?"
"Oh, I am." I say honestly. "You keep saying you love me, but I know you'll never have that kind of love for me. If you were to pick about who was to live or die between us, I know you are going to pick Julia to live. Which I am very much upset over, but I also know I'm just going to have to accept that."

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