That Morning
Lui woke up in the dim bedroom. 5:37 AM. Again, three minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Somehow his body always knew, as if it had a biological clock directly connected to his phone. He blinked away the remnants of sleep still clinging to him.
Beside him, Puriel was still sailing through his dreams. One foot peeked out from the blanket that wrapped around his body like a lazy snake. His black hair sprawled wildly across the pillow, yet somehow, he still looked peaceful. His lips were slightly parted, and his breathing followed a rhythm that Lui knew by heart.
Unconsciously, his hand reached for the phone on the nightstand. He turned off the alarm before it could ring, then opened the camera app. His movements were automatic, like an old habit embedded in muscle memory. One, two, three... he took a photo of Puriel still sound asleep.
Hundreds of photos of sleeping Puriel had filled his gallery. Others might not understand, might even find it strange. To them, the photos might all look the same. But Lui knew better. There was a story behind each photo. A tale preserved in every fold of the blanket, in every strand of hair falling across Puriel's forehead, in every pillow crease marking his cheek.
Today's photo: Puriel with his mouth slightly open and hair covering part of his eyes. The pillow creases clearly imprinted on his left cheek. Lui smiled faintly before putting his phone back.
He stretched out his hand, almost touching Puriel's messy hair, but stopped mid-air. There was something strange in this moment a silence that spoke, an intimacy without touch. Lui pulled his hand back, savoring these quiet seconds before the day truly began.
He carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake Puriel. The wooden floor creaked softly beneath his feet. He walked to the cramped kitchen of their apartment, ignoring the cold that crept from the floor into his soles.
In the kitchen, he eyed the old coffee machine a gift from Puriel's mother with a wary look. The machine had a personality of its own sometimes working well, but more often breaking down precisely when they needed it most. Lui pressed the black button on its side and waited, half-hoping.
After what felt like forever, the machine began to purr. Its sound resembled an overfed old cat noisy but somehow comforting in its own way. The aroma of fresh coffee slowly drifted through the air, filling the room with familiar warmth.
"That damn coffee is so loud."
Lui turned around. Puriel stood at the doorway, looking like someone who had just been forcibly pulled from a pleasant dream. His eyes were still half-closed, his hair jutting out in impossible directions. He wore Lui's oversized white t-shirt, now wrinkled and (of course) with a toothpaste stain at the bottom. A bad habit that never changed since they first moved in together.
"At least it's working today," Lui replied while pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs.
Puriel's mug read "Not Coffee, But Magic Water" a gift from his middle school students last year when he was still teaching art class. They had made the mug themselves in ceramics class, with slightly crooked writing and paint that faded a bit when washed. Puriel treasured it like a valuable artifact.
Instead of approaching Lui for a morning hug like in those romantic movies they often laughed at, Puriel snatched the toast that Lui was about to put in his mouth.
"You forgot the salt," he mumbled with his mouth full.
"Salt?" Lui furrowed his brow. "On toast with strawberry jam?"
"In the eggs, dummy." Puriel pointed at the empty pan on the stove. "You haven't made eggs yet."
"There are no eggs on the menu today."
"Oh." Puriel blinked several times, confusion clearly visible on his face. Then a small laugh escaped his lips. "I was still half-dreaming about the omelet you made yesterday."
They didn't talk much after that. No need. Five years together had taught them another language that didn't require words. A language consisting of small gestures, eye contact, and light touches that were almost imperceptible.
Puriel took his mug and stood beside Lui, their shoulders touching as Lui opened the cabinet to get a box of cereal. They moved in the narrow kitchen like dancers who had memorized the choreography flowing, adapting, giving space and filling it again without needing verbal communication.
Puriel's finger brushed the back of Lui's hand as he took a spoon from the drawer. A light touch, almost imperceptible, but still sending a warm tingle. Lui tucked Puriel's hair that fell over his eyes behind his ear an automatic gesture he had done hundreds of times.
This was their silent conversation. A wordless dialogue that only the two of them understood.
After breakfast, they sat on the small balcony of the apartment, watching the sky slowly change color. Their second coffee was still steaming, warming their hands and chasing away the morning chill.
"What are your plans today?" asked Lui, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
Puriel stretched like a cat, then sipped his coffee before answering, "Want to buy some small plants for the apartment." He paused, then added in a quieter voice, "This place is too empty."
Lui looked at him, then nodded simply. "We can go this afternoon."
Puriel smiled not a wide grin showing teeth, but a small smile visible only from the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth. He put his mug on the balcony floor, then reached for Lui's hand. His cold fingers met the warmth of Lui's palm. He didn't say anything, just rubbed the back of Lui's hand with his thumb.
A small touch that said more than a thousand words.
They sat like that for several minutes. Silent, with intertwined fingers. No words spoken, only touches that communicated in their own language. A language they had developed over years together through thousands of mornings like this, through countless small touches.
They weren't a couple who met dramatically like in romance novels. No accidental meeting in the rain, no love at first sight that stopped time. They met at a university freshman orientation event Lui accidentally bumped into Puriel, causing Puriel's notebook to fall. They were then paired as partners for an orientation project.
There was no definite moment when they fell in love. They just moved closer to each other, like two planets slowly drawn by each other's gravity, until finally deciding to orbit together. And when they finally moved in together, they found that words were often unnecessary. That there was a deeper intimacy born from shared silence, from light touches that felt like whispers.
When they went back inside the apartment, Lui glanced at his phone lying on the table. He opened the gallery and found the photo of Puriel he had just taken this morning his sleeping face with pillow creases and messy hair.
He smiled softly.
The photo might just be one of hundreds of similar ones. But for Lui, it was a small piece of the life he had built with Puriel. Tangible proof of the mornings they had spent together and those yet to come.
Puriel suddenly appeared behind him, peeking over his shoulder. His warm hands circled Lui's waist, his chin resting lightly on Lui's shoulder. No comment about Lui's strange habit of photographing him while sleeping. Just the warmth of a body pressing close and the soft exhale of breath brushing against Lui's neck.
"I look awful when I sleep," Puriel finally mumbled.
"I don't think so," Lui replied, turning off his phone.
"Liar." Puriel tightened his embrace briefly before letting go and walking to the bathroom.
Lui watched Puriel's retreating back. He knew that tomorrow morning, he would again wake up before his alarm went off. He would again take a photo of Puriel still asleep. And the cycle would continue always the same but never identical.
Like their love: simple, without drama, but always finding ways to feel new each day. Love more often expressed through small touches in silence than through words.
"Hey," Puriel's voice broke his reverie. He stood in front of the sink, washing his coffee mug. "If we buy a cactus, how long do you think it'll survive before dying from too much water?"
Lui laughed. "You really are the worst plant killer."
"Hey!" Puriel pretended to be offended, but his smile betrayed him. "I just care too much."
"Too much caring can kill too, you know."
"Morning philosopher," Puriel teased. He dried his hands with the small towel hanging beside the sink, then walked over to Lui.
Without a word, he reached out, wiping away bread crumbs stuck to the corner of Lui's lips. His fingers lingered longer than necessary, gently touching Lui's lips before withdrawing.
Lui caught Puriel's wrist and held it for a moment. They exchanged glances, speaking without sound in the language they had developed over years. The language of touch in silence, the language of eye contact, the language of breaths mingling together.
"So, cactus or not?" Puriel finally spoke, his voice slightly hoarse.
"Just a small one," Lui answered, his fingers still encircling Puriel's wrist. "It'll be easier to bury later."
Puriel laughed, free and genuine. He pulled his hand from Lui's grip, only to place it on Lui's chest. His fingers went back to playing with the buttons on Lui's pajamas, a small habit he always did when they talked closely like this.
That's how their morning passed with jokes, small laughter, and light touches that might not mean anything to others.
But for them, those touches in silence meant everything.