Silver Confetti

It was still early that Tuesday morning, perhaps a quarter after eight, when a young man, just of his mid-twenties, woke to the weather doing a number on his bedroom window. Little sticks and debris were being blown back and forth across the glass as small drops of percipatation washed the clingers away.

He could already tell from all the obvious signs that it was gearing to be a cold one today, and just as his thoughts began to lull him back to his previous dreams, he began to feel the affects of living so many floors up. The foundation of the building began to rock a lil’ and the wind was starting to express it’s loud, disapproving howl.

Howell.

With a small smile to himself he gave up the useless fight of trying to will himself back to sleep. The forementioned cold had started to seep through his meaningfully layered blankets and the socks he wore to bed the night before were now helplessly mixed in with the blue and green sheets. It was time to start the day off warmly with a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. And of course some buttery toast to accompany what was sure to be a lazy breakfast of cereal from the pantry.

The man had decided not to bother trying to dig through the tangled mess of blankets just yet for his lost socks, choosing instead to grab a more seasonal pair from the fresh laundry. The hamper, always “strategically” strown somewhere in his room for convenience, happened to stand beside his bedside table and inside were sweats and other warm clothes to just lounge around in. From inside he had, not as easily, found one green and one red sock to dress his frozen feet and hoodie to throw on top of his lion pajama shirt.

With a sigh of contentment he now deemed himself ready to face the sure to be icy tiles and appliances of the kitchen and started the short journey down the hall. Tip-toeing toward his destination he quietly shut his bedroom door and checked to see if the neighboring room hadn’t yet been disturbed. It was still very early; being a night owl himself would usually insure three more hours of peaceful rest on most days. Yet this didn’t just feel like any other day. For reasons he couldn’t put his finger on yet, he had a gut intuition that something out of the ordinary, something a bit special, would soon make itself known.

It was an unusual feeling, but still pleasurable nonetheless. And with the soft hum of the coffee machine now started up with grounded hazelnut he allowed himself to relax into the memorized routine of setting out their favorite mugs from the cabinet and silverwear from the dishwasher. The toast could wait until breakfast was fully set out and coffee done. It was better to have a nice contrast between the hot bread and refrigerated milk anyway.

With that thought, and dishes now placed appropiately on the breakfast bar, the man let his eyes slowly close as he leaned against the counter, listening for the coffee to be done. What he didn’t expect was another, familiar noise to stir him back up.

He was met with a groggy “Mornin’ Phil” and chocolate, half lidded eyes happily staring while trying to stiffle back a yawn. The sleepy intruder glided over to the counter where his partner still stood and placed a waiting morning kiss to his right cheek.

“Coffee smells good”, the newcomer sniffed, “is the toast out yet?”

“Almost”, the older man contently replied and watched as his love happily prepared the cream and sugar in both of their mugs.

He suddenly realized it wasn’t as cold in the cozy kitchen as he had previously thought.