Ebony and Irony

I woke up nice and toasty, thanks to my wolf-boy's arms around me during the night. I chuckled at my own joke, mulling over the Twilight books in my head; my boy was warm like Jake, but so perfect, like Edward. I pushed his arm off of my stomach and hoisted myself out of his bed, still exhausted from the drama last night. Now it all looked so trivial and simple.

I tiptoed from his room, stealing a glance at his sleeping figure on my way out, and down the stairs, sneaking into the bathroom before anyone up this crazy early could assault me with greetings of the time. I sighed quietly once I locked the door, and opened the window for the breeze; even as early as it was, it was sweltering. I heard my groggy boy's steps downstairs, and smiled at each sound they made.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.
Pause.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
Pause.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
Pause.

I heard him stifle a yawn on the other side of the door as he knock twice, slowly. The poor boy was probably more than half asleep still; I found it quite adorable.

"Hold on a minute," I said with a smile as I shut off the water and wiped my hands dry, unlocking the door to reveal Claudio, who fell asleep leaning against the wall. My smile grew, and I shook his shoulder.

"Wuzgonnon?" he asked, voice low and thick, eyes bleary and still half-closed. He did smile when my face came into focus for him, and he leaned heavily on me, giving me what I could only assume to be a hug.

"Aw, my poor boy," I cooed once I peeled him from my front side-- he'd started to drool-- and straightened him up, poking him for good measure. "You want some breakfast, love?" I got half a nod, considered that consent to start cooking, and pushed him towards the bathroom as I made for the kitchen; he hit his head on the door frame and swore loudly, waking up some; I laughed and got all the ingredients I needed for chocolate chip pancakes.

When he stepped from the restroom, I was humming and waiting for my second batch of pancakes to fluff and brown; my first stack sat on a plate for him on the table, and he all but ran towards them, scarfing them all down hot before I was able to pull my third pancake from the griddle.

"These are good," he told me with a gesture to the empty plate and his mouth full. I just laughed, bowed my head, and gave him more, which he gladly accepted. My smile got, if anything, bigger when Mrs. Sanchez took one from him and gave me her compliments; I handed her a plateful for her and her husband to share in bed, and she thanked me kindly while stumbling up the stairs again; it'd been a while since they'd had breakfast in bed, and I knew they deserved it.

Claudio, however, was appalled when I handed her the plate and began to mix more batter; the boy eats like a pig.

"Those were supposed to be mine!" he pouted, moving to my side with an empty plate and big eyes beneath his glasses. I ruffled his hair, and began pouring my fresh batter onto the hot griddle in bigger portions; I was hungry now, and if I made him flapjacks, maybe he'd eat slower. He was on his fifth plate, after all.

"There," I told him, handing him seven flapjacks that were bigger than my head. "That's the last batch I'm making for you. I have to eat for myself, you know." I waved my spatula at him while I waited for my meager batch to cook, and he sent my a goofy smile, of which I returned.

"I forgot you could cook so well," he said in a conversational tone with a whole flapjack in his mouth when I sat down. "These are better than I think even mom makes 'em." I nodded modestly and tucked into my own; they were pretty good.

"They were delicious, Lydia," Mrs. Sanchez beamed down to me while she navigated the stairs, empty plate in hand; it looked almost as though it was licked clean. I took it as a compliment, and nodded again, finishing my own.

"Thank you, Mrs. Sanchez," I smiled at my crinkly-faced adopted mother, and turned to my boy, who looked bored now that he wasn't continually stuffing his face. "What are we doing today?"

He shrugged, and got up to dump his plate in the sink; Mrs. Sanchez was already upstairs again, resting since it was Sunday, with Mr. Sanchez. I sat at the table, scheming.

"Actually," Claudio interrupted my thoughts, a casual tone to his voice. "I kind of already made plans with someone today."

"Oh."

I should be happy, right?

"Who with?" I asked him after a small moment of awkward silence.

"Olivia," he told me sheepishly after a minute of deliberating whether to tell me or not. "We're going to go see the new Harry Potter movie," he added when I didn't say anything; his eyes lit up when he talked about going out, and I felt my stomach clench up.

"Oh, cool."

He knew I'd been dying to see that for months. And he was taking another person. A girl, to make it worse.

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, and gestured towards the bathroom, obviously wanting to shower before his date. I got to my feet, which was oddly difficult seeing as my legs were numb, and stumbled to the sink, letting my plate clatter into the basin.

How could you? was my only thought, and my stomach felt like it was freezing over.

Just like that, my day was empty as ever, stretching out so long I couldn't see the end of it anymore.

~*~

"Whatcha doing?"

I glanced up before focusing back in the mirror.

"Nothing. Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be at the theaters by now?"

"I'm just heading out now. I wanted to say bye before I left."

His eyes looked like glass in the mirror as I stole another glance back at him, careful not to move my head or my hand as I did so.

"Bye." My voice was tight, and I kept my face smooth as I went back to what I was doing.

"Wait." He walked through the frame of the bathroom, studying me softly. "You never did tell me what you were doing."

Well, I know you're stalling, but I'm turning jade green with jealousy right now.

My mouth turned down on one side, a half-grimace.

"I'm fixing my appearance."

He looked at me again-- my wet hair hanging limply around my face-- then at the floor, where a moat of hair lay around my feet; I'd skimmed a good inch or two off the bottom with a razor, layering it in an artistic way. He nodded his head as he studied my work closer, almost breathing on the back of my neck; my hands shook above my face, and I didn't dare cut for fear of dorky looking bangs because of him.

"Looks good." His voice sounded somewhat surprised, and I got a bit miffed, though I kept it inside. "You doing your bangs now?"

I nodded lightly, concentrating so much that I was subconsciously biting down on my lip, and snipped some more hair off; it fluttered into the sink and I brushed through my handy work with my fingers. I thought I looked good, for being so bloody angry and jealous when I started.

I quickly straightened my hair, and turned to see Claudio, still there, leaning against the wall with a small smirk; I'd been belting out songs while I made work of my hair straightener, and I blushed scarlet for it now. I was extremely shy, even with Claudio, when it came to me singing.

"Sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed, as I slid out the door, straightener clutched to my chest. He followed me as I climbed the steps and put my straightener back where it lived on my desk. I turned around again, and saw him leaning on the wall, still watching me curiously. "Aren't you going to be late?"

He shrugged and slouched off the wall, walking up to me; his coat was over his arm and a smile was on his face. He lifted his fingers up and brushed my hair softly, eyes boring down into mine.

"I like what you did with it," he told me in almost a whisper; chills ran down my spine as his breath hit my face. I shrugged nonchalantly and my breath hitched as his face came closer to mine.

"I didn't think you could look prettier than you did, but you do." His voice was a whisper, and I was frozen on the spot.

I swallowed nervously and gave a small mumble that was supposed to be thanks, but never really developed into real words. He grinned at my nervousness, and I tried to clear my throat to make a coherent sentence.

"You're probably standing her up right now." I couldn't get any volume in my voice, and he frowned at the thought of being impolite.

"You want me to go," he surmised, forehead crinkled in disappointment.

"I never said that," I pointed out with more volume to my words. It made me sound more confident. "I just said you were probably standing her up right now."

He nodded, forehead creased deeper, and revoked his fingers from where they had rested on my cheek. I almost screamed at him to come back, but I knew it would be selfish, so I let him wave at me, turn around, and walk out the door.

I sighed and sat down on my bed. Our bed.

I didn't regret anything before I let him walk out that damn door.