He showed up, eventually—at approximately seven in the morning, strolling into the apartment with a bag of pastries and two coffees in hand, just like he'd been doing since we found our groove again.

After dancing around so many holes, we'd finally fallen into one. And I didn't intend on scratching my way out with him dragging me down.

"Hey," he greeted, kicking the door shut with his foot. "I got doughnuts!"

I nodded, clutching my mug as he frolicked towards the counter. As nonchalantly as ever, he placed a quick peck on my temple, dropping the bag next to me.

"They didn't have any milk," he grunted, stepping around the stool I'd rooted myself too since five; at some point, my logical self kicked in and decided that I wouldn't toss and turn over him—I'd rather worry with tea scorching my throat and bubbling in my veins. "So I decided, hey, why not just add it here? I'm not sure if you like it warm or not, but I'm sure it'll—"

His halt rang clear as day throughout the day, and I blinked, my eyes gliding towards him. His sweater-clad torso leaned against the open fridge door, and his eyes were trained on the second shelf, where I'd left the cake after leisurely ingesting the slices I'd cut for myself.

"Happiness is just around the corner," he read aloud, a hand fleeing to his hip, while the other rested above his head, against the door. "You were around ours?" He blinked, his eyelashes shifting the balance in the air as he raised his head, his eyes dim once they met mine.

"The kids next door baked it for me," I told him, managing a small smile. The first genuine one that day, too. "You know, the ones I used to play hopscotch with?" He nodded, a sharp, pearly incisor grazing against his lower lip.

Silence settled over the apartment—something that had never been strange to me, even with people around. It was never like this, though. Not with him.

But here we are, letting our lack of words and broken eye contact speak for themselves.

Breaking the silence, he lifted the cake from the shelf, placing it on the counter. His eyebrows rose expectantly, and I nodded, watching as he searched the drawers for knives.

And that's how it went; me, sipping my tea and coffee after every swallow, and him, poking at his cake and biting into his doughnut with the same teeth that he'd used to brand my skin, claiming me as his own.

I'd have to change that, though—etch something different on my surface; my name, or a cloud, for I belonged to nothing and no one, except myself, and the sky.

xxx

dedicated to aphrodite, because she's a wonderful human being and her name is the raddest thing (and very fitting, obvs).