Too Early, a Little Longer

by Emilee DeFrancesco

I wake up in the dark, eyes still shut as the weight of sleep lays upon the lids, a band of warmth wrapped around me like a cradle. I forget for a moment where I am, though not confused, only comforted and safe.

Once my mind awakes, then I remember where and who I am. I remember the face of the boy curled into my spine, his chilled nose pressed against the spot on my spine where neck meets shoulders. I always wake before him, and I know this routine well enough to not shift about and disturb him.

A small mumble and the tightening of his arm alerts me that somehow, he too is awake. His breath dances across my skin as he loses it in protest of leaving his dreams. I know that he hopes it’s the middle of the night because I hope for the same – the wee hours would allow us to drift back into slumber, but the sun being risen too far means we have to leave the sweet warmth of the blankets and sheets and each other. I can feel his weight shifting behind me now, adjusting to be more comfortable and hopefully doze off again.

One of our phones lights up from the nightstand, and I feel the dread pool in my stomach. The sound comes next, not harsh but loud enough to wake us if we’d still been asleep. My arm snakes out from beneath his, fingertips icy from the cold air swirling outside the blankets. I don’t reach out to tap the glowing orange “snooze” or smaller and darker “stop,” only to turn over and lay the phone in his awaiting palm. I don’t really know which he presses – “snooze” to get fifteen more minutes of morning bliss, or “stop” to allow another alarm to go off? – because he rolls onto his back, makes the decision, and tucks the device under his pillow.

“Just a little longer,” he murmurs, muscled forearm winding its way around my shoulders and drawing me to his side. “I love you.”

My lips curl up, cheek and ear pressed to his skin. I can hear his heartbeat like this, slow and steady and soothing. “I love you too, darling.” My warmer hand runs up to cup his cheek, thumb slowly brushing circles against skin and stubble. I feel his sigh release from his chest, and only moments later, I hear his gentle snoring.