New Dawn [Ollie & Francesca]
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Francesca replied, rolling over on the bed to lie on her back. Staring at the ceiling, she allowed herself to smile and giggle freely, her hands quick to cover her mouth before Ollie could hear anything. She was so damn giddy that morning it was almost alarming; though, she supposed that was the consequence of happiness. It took a fool to fall in love, after all, and she was perhaps the biggest fool of them all.
With a yawn, Fran got herself up and dressed (barely) in whatever she could find on the floor. That whatever happened to be her own slip, and in a matter of seconds the thin, silky fabric was on and covering everything that needed coverage. She then rubbed her eyes until the remnants of her makeup were gone and she looked moderately put together. Before she left Ollie’s room, though, she noticed he hadn’t bothered to put anything on. Shaking her head with a grin, Fran found his slacks and draped them over her shoulder.
“Unfortunately it’s not sanitary to cook naked, love.” Stepping into the kitchen, Fran placed a kiss on his bare shoulder before transferring his pants from her own shoulder to his. “So what’s the status on breakfast?” She said as she took a seat at the table.
Francesca appeared, upright and bright-eyed, and Ollie felt this flood of gratitude swell in his chest. Despite all that remained unaired between them, he felt good about this, about her; it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
With some reluctance, Ollie slipped into the pants Francesca had provided, and he wondered if she realized that she was the only one he'd appease on personal whims like this. Business was business, but when it came to personal preference--well, he was never particularly quick to bend to the will of others, even when it came to requests as simple as this one.
He suspected that she did know, in her way, and furthermore, he suspected that she relished this knowledge immensely.
"Still bread and orange juice," he said once she'd sat down, pleased when the bar on the toaster popped up just in time. "But now it's toasted bread, which must count for something."
He managed to scrounge up some butter, too, but that was the extent of it. Some modicum of embarrassment rose deep in his gut at putting down such a sad attempt at a meal down in front of her, but he reminded himself that he wasn't of the sort to get embarrassed and set the plate and glass down brazenly instead, as if he were proud of what he'd managed.
The ridiculousness of it was easy to forget, as was the breakfast itself, upon a full appraisal of the woman before him. He must have seen her like this a hundred times, face plain and hair sticking up in the back, but it still seemed so foreign to him, a rare privilege in a sea of moments when she was red-lipped and coiffed to perfection, electric and terrifying, still equally as appealing but far removed from the intimacy that even he craved, reluctant as he was to admit it.
Finally, however, the spell was broken, and he attended to their morning snack (for "breakfast" was, perhaps, overstating things a bit). The orange juice was good, at least, pulpy and fresh, and the butter had melted just the right amount, lending a richness to that which might have been so plain.
"I don't have much to do today," he dared to begin, staring intently at a little piece of pulp that was sliding down the inside of his glass. "Joel's looking after the Stingray because he wanted more hours." That and, well, Ollie had needed a break. "Meaning I don't have anywhere to be if you need... company."
He cursed himself for being unable to say what he meant as he was so habitually accustomed to doing. Few patterns held indefinitely, but couldn't his at least hold now?
He supposed not. Fed up with wishing, he instead hoped that she understood that which he couldn't quite say, or at least that she managed to get it out of him (a skill which, admittedly, Francesca thoroughly possessed).
