Consistent Taste

By the time Michelle came back from the washroom, her face cool and clean and her eyes still a little swollen from crying, Roy was already asleep.

She paused in the doorway of the bedroom, one hand resting lightly on the frame. The lamp was off, the room lit only by the amber spill of streetlight through the blinds. He lay on his side, facing her half of the bed, one arm flung out where she imagined he must have been waiting for her. The sheets were fresh. Thank God. She noticed that right away. Clean, crisp, tucked with care that made her chest ache in a soft, grateful way.

Of course he'd fallen asleep. It was after two in the morning. He was human. He was tired. And he'd done so much already.

She moved quietly, the way you do when you don't want to disturb something fragile. She pulled the covers up around him first, smoothing them over his shoulder, an almost domestic gesture that made her feel strangely grown-up. Someone's girlfriend. Someone who belonged here.

Then she climbed in beside him.

The mattress dipped, and he shifted a little but didn't wake. She curled herself close, pressing her rear gently against him, fitting herself to the solid warmth of his body. It felt natural. Right. Like this was where she was supposed to be. She tucked her hands in front of her chest and closed her eyes, hoping, not demanding, just hoping, that sometime in the night his arm might find its way around her.

She wanted to feel protected. Wanted to feel chosen.

Sleep took her quickly. Exhaustion claimed her without ceremony.

Morning came too soon.

Grey light crept in through the blinds, and the sound of the city waking filtered faintly up from the street. Michelle blinked herself awake, her body heavy, her mind slow. Roy was already stirring, rubbing his face, sitting up with a groan that made her smile despite herself.

They were both wrecked. You could see it on him. On herself, too, she was sure.

"I'm so sorry," she said immediately, propping herself up on one elbow. "I kept you up so late."

Roy looked at her for a long second, then smiled, not sleepy exactly, but warm. Familiar.

"I don't think you need to apologize," he said. "Pretty sure you took care of any hard feelings last night."

Her face heated instantly.

She knew what he meant.

The memory came back in a rush. Not images, not details, just sensations. Nerves. Excitement. The strange, heady feeling of doing something new and intimate and very real. She'd never done that before. It had been less trial-and-error than she had imagined it would be, and more instinct. Roy's body, Roy's hard penis, in her hand, the embodiment of his love for her. The girls at school used to talk about it sometimes, in half-whispered conversations that were more giggling than instruction. She'd always listened with curiosity, with a sense that it was something distant, something for later.

She hadn't expected it to feel like that.

Exhilarating. Intimate. Powerful, in a way she hadn't known she'd crave. She'd never thought a man's body could be something you admired, something you wanted to please. And she did want to please it. Had it been the weekend, had they both not needed to rush off, she would have offered him another round.

She ducked her head, smiling to herself.

"Well," she said lightly. "I did my best."

Roy laughed, soft and fond, and the knot in her chest loosened.

They moved through the morning slowly, both of them running on too little sleep. He made toast. Scrambled a couple of eggs. Nothing fancy. It tasted incredible anyway. She poured coffee and drowned hers in cream and sugar until it was more beige than brown.

Roy took his black.

She watched him take the first sip and grinned. "You know," she said, "I should've known you liked your coffee black."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, gesturing at herself. "Consistent taste."

He snorted, nearly ****, and she laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days.

It felt so good, sitting there at his table. Drinking coffee with him. Being tired together. Being someone's girlfriend—especially Roy's. There was a steadiness to it, a sense of being anchored. Like no matter what had happened the night before, this was real. This morning. This quiet.

She glanced at the clock and groaned. "I've got an opening shift. I need to go soon."

He nodded. "I'll drive you."

She hesitated, then blurted out, "Can I have a key?"

The question surprised even her. It felt bold. Hopeful.

Roy didn't say no, but he did grimace. "I don't actually have a spare right now. But I'll make one for you."

Relief washed through her. "Okay."

As she went to grab her things, he stopped her. "You should take your suitcase."

She frowned. "I don't want to."

"I know," he said gently. "And I'm not kicking you out. Not even a little. I just... your mom. Things are fresh. Maybe you'll reconcile. I want you to have options."

The word landed heavier than she expected.

"I love having you here," he added quickly. "I just don't want your mother mad at me forever. If it doesn't work out, you come right back. Tonight, even. No question."

She didn't like it. But she heard the care in his voice. The logic, even if it felt flawed, even if it scared her a little. She trusted him. She loved him. He was right, in a way. If her mom found out that she had run away to move in with him without giving her a chance, Roy would have no chance of ever being welcomed into the family. Her mom was a strong woman, kind, generous, but she held a grudge.

So she packed. For Roy. To give him this one chance.

When they finally headed out, suitcase in hand, coffee still warming her veins, Michelle felt tired to the bone, but also strangely steady.

Someone's girlfriend.

Roy's girlfriend.

And that, right now, felt like enough.