I woke up unnaturally early with the thought of leaving as soon as possible but when I opened Nico's stainless steel fridge to grab a bottle of water before going to the training ground I found it full of groceries. I decided I couldn't leave him just yet, thinking Nico would appreciate a good greasy breakfast that would cure his hungover— we both did in fact skip dinner.

I'm focused on the task at hand. Cooking was never my thing but I am confident in frying stuff in the pan for breakfast. Sausages, bacon, eggs, it was simple enough and quick. I found everything I need in Nico's kitchen and his kitchen is definitely something. It has a beautiful marble counter filled with small spice racks and cupboards full of different cooking oils and baking equipment. In the daylight I can notice that the whole apartment is spacious. Colourful cushions punctuated long beige sofa and splashes of modern art on walls are breaking the monotony of white.

When I hear footsteps I turn my head around toward the approaching figure.

"Fuck, Jordan. You trying to kill me or what?" Nico walks into the kitchen, his sleep-soaked gravelly morning voice moving through me like honey.

"No?"

"Yeah, you are. You in my kitchen, in only your boxers, making me breakfast... Ugh I'm literally planning to have babies with you right this moment."

He hugs my torso from behind, and I tense as his hot breath and soft lashes tingle the skin of my back. I should have dressed as soon as I got up but I really didn't want to wear that tight, constricting suit just yet. I also didn't expect Nico to be awake before I left.

"After what happened last night I'm so glad that at least I don't have to worry about pregnancy."

I retort as I scoop scrambled eggs onto two plates. I manage to free myself of him and plate the food letting him know that I'm still not over Nico's strange behavior and the uncertainty that he brings into my life. What are we doing? How did I end up in his bed again? Why is he crying after sex? All these questions, these little doubts and details we have to address. And even though I'm really relieved that there is no sign of last night's distress I'm still upset with him. His insecurities and vague explanations are making me uncomfortable, which is making me not trust him.

"Jordan," he calls me and I turn around reluctantly. He looks at me with the saddest eyes ever. "It's been months now that I haven't even looked at another person. The way you treat me is different, I think I'm completely ruined for anyone else... So much that it freaked the fuck out of me... I... "

He looks down at his hands like he can't hold eye contact and says, "Jordan, I'm not joking, you are my dream come true. And I know I've been acting like a dick and I don't deserve the nicest person in the world like you to spare me a second of his time, but trust me this - I want everything with you."

"We're nineteen. Nobody talks about kids and happy ever after at nineteen so stop trying to sweet talk me."

"Yeah, we're still young but I'm positive that I would want you the same in ten years from now, or twenty."

He takes my hand and pulls me to him, my body pressing him against the kitchen counter. How can he say all that so easily, I want to ask him. Because it's cruel. Hearing him speak about his feelings about me unravels something in me, echoes in my ears—this gorgeous, shining star desired by so many, destined for greater things and fame wants me, looks at me always like he expects me by his side.

"Again, I apologise about last night. When I drink I'm not myself."

"Well, I'm also sorry. I shouldn't have ever taken advantage of you like that while you were not yourself." I close my eyes and sigh. "I'm not like that, I don't know what's gotten into me."

After a few beats of silence he leans in and brings our lips together. His eyes are closed, hands slowly dancing over my back and I open my mouth allowing him in. His tongue tastes so sweet in my mouth, so right—full of intent and everything that's gone unsaid between us over the last few months. It feels strange kissing him like this, but oddly liberating, like the aftermath of the storm of our emotions. I break it before I get carried away.

"We need to talk, Nico," I say with a gentler tone, still touching his lips with mine as I talk. "The reason we keep fucking things up is that we never had a proper conversation. We just end up fucking. And yeah, I love fucking you but you need to tell me shit, like, I can't lose my mind anymore like I did last night. Or that day you left London."

His hesitation speaks volumes after I mention the day he left me. Dark eyes blink up at me and with a big inhale and exhale, his shoulders slump. The light filters through the blinds and the air smells of toasted bread and Nico's minty breath. I didn't like to think of myself as a romantic but at the very least I supposed that this right here could potentially hold up under the pretense of romance. Kissing him in his kitchen after waking up next to him, it's a picture I never thought I wanted but now it feels like I need it. With this in mind, I kiss him gently once more, enjoying the softness of his lips. He smiles at me like that small kiss made everything better and reaches for the plates.

"Come, let's eat and talk." We move to sit at the dining table.

"I'm going to be late for my training session, I can't stay long. But I do want to talk. We can... grab lunch? Or dinner? If you're free later... "

"Like a date?" There's a playful tone in his voice.

"Um... I'm not sure I know much about dates; it's been ages since I've been on one. The last date I was on was the museum with you and I wasn't really aware that was a date until you told me much later."

"So what about all those people you said you're speaking Spanish to in the bedroom?" He sees right through my bullshit and he lets me know with that smirk of his. And I can't stop staring at his mouth, his chiseled jaw and those freckles that can win wars.

"Shut up."

I shoot him my best pissed-off look as I link my bare feet with his underneath the table. He laughs loud, carefree and it fills the room reminding me of our time in London, that calm before the storm happened. And I don't know why but I need to touch him more so I reach across the table to grab his hand, even though he's still holding his toast. I just look at him trying to explain what I feel in this moment without saying a word. And I think he understands. That I haven't been with anyone, that he's the one that I left my heart open for.

I pull his hand by the wrist towards my mouth and grab a bite of his toast. He shakes his head with a wicked grin all while holding my eyes. Finally, he speaks when I let him go.

"How about I cook you dinner?"

"You cook?"

"I love to cook. I don't do it often though."

He glances away like he's sad about that fact. I'm genuinely surprised that he loves cooking because I would never expect that to be his hobby so I'm more than interested to try his food. Also it would definitely be less awkward than going to the restaurant, I wouldn't even know how to approach the fact that I would be taking Nico Silva on a date. I would have to pick a nice enough restaurant, I would have to think of what to wear, I would have to compete with all the others who took him out on dates before me so I like this idea much better. No distractions—it would be just us and I would only have to focus on him and not our surroundings.

"I'd love that." I nod.

He smiles at me and it looks like the beginning of something real. I still have my legs tangled with his and I don't want to break us apart but I have to go, without finishing my breakfast.

But I do get another soft kiss at his door and that is enough to keep my energy for the day.