Andy, You're A Star

The next morning, I woke up before anyone.

I looked at my sidekick and groaned when I saw that it was only six. I would have just buried myself under my blanket and pillows and gone back to sleep, but I really had to pee, and my stomach was growling at me.

I slipped out of bed and went to my dresser, taking out a pair of short yellow shorts and that ugly blue baseball-style cricket shirt that caused me much grief on New Years. It was very comfortable though, and that's all I really cared about at six in the morning. I slipped my feet into my moccasin slippers and pulled my hair up into a messy ponytail, before hurrying across the hall to the bathroom. I used the loo, washed my hands, cleaned my face, and brushed my teeth before heading downstairs to find something to eat.

It was hard to find food in normal houses when you're lactose intolerant and don't eat meat, but the Sykes' house wasn't normal. Like Oliver had pointed out in the early days of our relationship, they had the equivellence of a grocery store in the big white, clean kitchen.

I opened the monsterous fridge and got out the soy milk, the half-cantelope that had been cut the night before, the package of strawberrys, and a tub of lactose-free yogurt.

I piled all the stuff on the counter, before shuffling to the cereal cupboard and getting the granola out.

In the same movement, I tossed the box onto the counter with the rest of the food and retrieved a bowl and a glass from the dishwasher.

I got out a cutting board to cut the cantelope, a spoon to mix the granola and yogurt, and a dish to put the cut up fruit in.

It was early enough in the morning that I needed the overhead light on, but it didn't bother me much.

Mr. and Mrs. Sykes had already left for work. Every day for the last year (save weekends and holidays) they've left for work at prompty five-thirty. Of course, there were those business trips that they went on, but that didn't count because they weren't even home then.

I grabbed a knife by it's hilt and cut up a few slabs of cantelope, dicing them into bite sized pieces, before puttying them into the dish. I left the strawberries whole and mixed them with the cantelope, before putting both the knife and the cutting board into the sink. I spooned a few dollops of yogurt into the empty bowl, and poured in some granola, mixing it together and eating a spoonful. I put the granola and the yogurt away, poured myself a glass of soy milk, and put the carton in the fridge door, before taking a seat at the island with my breakfast.

I ate the granola first, before it lost it's crunch. It was very good; I'd forgotten how fresh, healthy food tasted. At Daniel's, we ate out a lot, or had cereal. It wasn't terrible, but this was preferrable.

I was enjoying myself, finishing the bowl of granola and yogurt, when I heard a door open upstairs. Lazy, tired footsteps moved across the hall to the bathroom, and for a split second my heart stopped; it was Oli. I knew this because there was no sound of shuffling socks; instead it was bare feet slapping the hard-wood. Tom always slept with socks on. Oliver hated the feeling of his feet being enclosed while he slept.

I worked to calm myself, taking deep breaths and distracted myself with food. I gingerly picked up a piece of cantelope and bit it in half, still listening carefully signs that Oliver was coming down the stairs.

I popped the other half of the cantelope into my mouth and chewed slowly. I probably looked a lot more calm than I was. I didn't know if I was ready to confront Oliver yet. I knew what I would say to him, or not say, and what I would do, but it wasn't so simple when he was less than one-hundred feet away.

I focused on the sweet, juicy fruit in my mouth and not the running water upstairs that told me Oliver was in the shower. I had to keep myself from thinking about him under the stream of hot water, his skin and hair soaked, covered in soap...

I coughed harshly, choking on a bit of the fruit. Apparently I got a little carried away. I drank some of my soy milk and sighed, closing my eyes and breathing more deeply.

I hoped with everything that I had, and some things that I didn't, that Tom was right, and that Oliver's will would weaken when he saw me again.

I didn't have much time. Oli was known to take unbelievably short showers (and still manage to get incredibly clean) and I needed to either calm down or leave. Or wake Tom up and use him as a buffer.

The last option which seemed most safe, wouldn't do. I wasn't going to keep hiding and counting on Tom to help me. And I couldn't leave, because I had nowhere to go.

So calm down it was. My backpack was still by the door, as far as I knew. If I could get to it, I could get to my Zune and listen to as much Chopin as I could squeeze into the next five minutes. I hurried into the family room and sighed when I saw my olive green army backpack sitting there on the floor. I rushed over and pulled out my Zune and my earmuff headphones, dangling them around my neck as I made my way back to the kitchen.

As soon as the first piano note sounded, my nerves were already on their way to being tamed.

While I was at Daniel's, he'd begun to teach me to play Chopin's Nocturn Two in B Minor, so I listened to that song and pretended that I was sitting on the bench of that baby grand in Daniel's apartment, and not in the kitchen of the love of my life who didn't seem to want to love me back, about to confront him about said issue.

I turned the volume up, and picked up a strawberry, biting just under the stem of it. I sat with my back to the patio door, which put the staircase right in my line of sight.

I could faintly make out the sound of the water shutting off. Three minutes from now, Oli would come down those stairs and my heart would break into a sprint and I would have to stop myself from vaulting over the island counter and tackling him, putting him under me and as close to me as possible.

I took another drink of my soy milk and picked up another strawberry.

The bathroom door opened and I could hear that heartbreakingly familiar voice singing quietly under his breath.

I took a deep breath and held it, biting into the strawberry and chewing slowly, listening to both the soft, barely audiable footsteps coming down the stairs and the mind-bending composition that was my only hope.

His legs came first, bare feet and limbs shealthed in skin tight jeans; then his torso, covered in a snug fitting Norma Jean V-Neck, and finally his face. He looked slightly distracted, squinting a little from the overhead light I'd forgotten to shut off, his lips still moving as he muttered the words to some song he had in his head. His hands tapped against his thighs as he walked straight to the light switch; he had his back to me so he probably didn't notice me in the midst of his irritation with the light.

"Need that," I said quietly, and he jumped slightly, before going completely still. He stood like this, his back rigid and muscles tense for a few long seconds, before he turned and looked at me.