The curtains flutter as the cold morning breeze enters the room through the windows. I bury myself in his neck, hugging him tightly. He's warm. My chin rests on his chest as he pulls the blanket upto my neck. "Good morning, love", his sweet voice gives me butterflies. "Morning ", I reply in my sleepy voice trying to get closer to him clutching onto his shirt.
My gaze follows his as I notice him staring at me. The morning light filtering through the curtains cast a golden glow on Tristan's skin making him even more the source of light and warmth. The cold air contrasts with the warmth surrounding Tristan. I can feel his heart beating against my cheek, steady reminding me it wasn't a sweet dream but reality.
His fingers gently brush my wavy auburn strands covering face while he stared at me with his bright blue eyes, a gaze so intense it felt like I was falling into an endless abyss. "Your eyes are pretty", he says smiling. "Says the one with the prettiest eyes",I reply with a pouty face. He chuckles at my comment.
"They're are the same colour as emeralds...mhm...vibrant and deep, flecked with gold and hints of blue, giving them a mysterious and captivating quality. Do you know your eyes can shift in shade depending on the light, sometimes appearing as soft and mossy while...other times bright and piercing, drawing me in with their enchanting allure", he says smiling.
How can he s..say something so romantic with a straight face? I look away flushed. He chuckles and wraps his arms around me, kissing my forehead giving me a sense of safety. Arghh... he's giving me butterflies.
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.
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I was sitting on the large bay window, my sketchbook open in my lab. The soft breeze fluttering the pages of the book. The sunlight seeps through the flimsy curtains, casting a golden hue on everything it touched. The tip of my pencil glides smoothly over the paper tracing delicate lines of the portrait of Tristan I started yesterday. I was halfway through, only his face was left. I close my eyes, letting Tristan's image fill my mind. I started with the outer shape, the strong, defined lines that framed his eyes. Then my fingers moved inward, carefully sketching the delicate curve of his lashes and the gentle arch of his brow. Every detail mattered, and I wanted to capture it all, to do justice to the eyes that had captured my heart.
The sound of the cutlery brought me back to the reality. Tristan was standing beside me with a bowl of pasta he cooked, with a evergreen smile on his face. He set the bowl on the small, round and simple dining table we had. It's not that we can't afford a larger one it's just that this table brings us closer, we feel more like a family then just two strangers sitting and eating together. He came out of the shower a little while ago so his hair is still wet. His few rebellious strands break free, tumbling over his forehead in soft, damp waves. The water caused his chestnut hair to appear richer, more vibrant, as if each strand was gleaming in the soft light. The loose strands framed his face, adding a boyish charm to his features that made him look even more endearing.
As the droplets of water slowly trickled down his temples, the hair clung slightly to his skin, drawing attention to the sharp angles of his jawline and the smooth, warm tones of his complexion. His blue eyes, bright and clear, stood out even more against the damp, tousled locks, giving him a look that was both vulnerable and irresistibly attractive.
With a quick, practiced motion, Tristan ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back, though a few strands stubbornly fell forward again, brushing against his forehead. He smiled, a little self-consciously, as if he was aware of how effortlessly handsome he looked, especially in moments like this.
"Come, let's eat. You have been drawing since earlier", he speaks with a dazzling smile. I set my sketchbook aside, sitting on the chair opposite to him. He twirled a forkful of pasta, offering me. I opened my mouth slightly accepting the delicious flavorful taste. My eyes widen in delight. "Damn! It's so tasty", I exclaim with my mouth full. He chuckles. His cheerful laugh fills my heart with love. "I know right. Well afterall someone has to be a good cook".
"I am not that bad at cooking tho", I say with a pouty face as he feeds me again.
"Sure, sure", he giggles slightly as he eats the pasta, with the same fork. An indirect kiss.
He's my boyfriend, offcourse we have kissed before but still an indirect kiss makes my heart flutter. God, I feel so stupid.
As we eat in peace, the soft breeze flutters around our little house. We have been living together since last year. We bought this place together. A small, pretty simple cottage at the end of a quiet, peaceful street. The house is quiet warm and inviting with several windows through which warm sunlight seeps in. The ground floor has a cozy living room and a small kitchen. Through the window of the kitchen we could see the pretty little garden of Tristan. Tristan loves gardening. He has several colorful flowers in his garden which adds a contrasting effect to our ivory brick laid house. We also have a small fireplace just like those found in the 90s with a mantel shelf, with a couch nearby where we spend our winter evenings wrapped in each others arms.
The second floor consists of a bedroom with four-poster bed and large window and an attached bathroom. The room is painted in pastels, beige, white and ivory with a hint of peach. We have a huge bookshelf taking all the space in adjacent wall to the door, filled with Tristan's books, the one he has written and he reads. It also has my sketchbooks. We have a table and vanity mirror in one side of the room and a closet in another. The table has art and writing supplies scattered all over it as it is used by both of us.
My phone rings bringing me back to the reality. "The academy?", he asks out of curiosity. I glance at my phone and nod. "You should pick up, it might be important", he says as he makes his way to the kitchen to wash the dishes. I pick the call.
I can hear Mrs. Hiddleston sweet voice on the other side of the call greeting me good morning as I speak "Morning, Charlotte".