The Cosmic Significance of Eggs
Author's website: http://krossero.livejournal.com
Thanks go to Jen for the beta! *smooch to you*
The Cosmic Significance of Eggs
This is a test. It's got to be, right? I mean, it feels like a test. Or, rather, it feels like a pop quiz. The kind that, until now, you didn't even realize that there was any material to be quizzed on, and your notes are sitting on the kitchen table at home, miles out of reach. It's definitely giving me that same vibe, that feeling you get when you're about to sneeze, with two cups of hot coffee in your hands and no place to put them.
The question itself was innocuous enough, really. All he said was, "So, Chief, what do you want for breakfast this morning?" Nothing too terrifying about that, not normally.
But it's the circumstances that count, that turn the question I've heard a million times into an evaluation of sorts, a trap that I'm about to walk straight into. Because, you see, as many times as I've been asked this very thing, it's never been put to me while I was sprawled in Jim's bed, covers half-wrapped around me to protect me from the lingering chill of the night.
Jim's never asked me this question while stretched out on his side next to me, wearing nothing but his boxers, his head propped up on hand and his blue eyes staring at me intently.
I've never heard this question from Jim's lips with the memory of his hands on me, loving me, just the night before.
So now the question of eggs and bacon, or pancakes and syrup has taken on some major significance. And I know that I'm not reading too much into this, because Jim's waiting patiently, watching me as I think. He's not cuffing me on the head and making a joke about my difficulty in answering such a simple question, not laughing with his eyes as he gently reminds me that not everything is so complicated. No, he's all too serious for my liking at the moment.
So what do I say? If I tell him that I want eggs, does that somehow translate into needing commitment? Do waffles mean I'm waffling? Are pancakes a sure sign that I'll cut and run? What about a bagel, or toast, or for heaven's sake, my algae shake? What the hell happens if I want cereal?
And if I do decide I want eggs, what kind do I want? There are so many options; fried, hard-boiled, poached. But definitely not Eggs Benedict, I don't want to know what Jim would think that means.
Speaking of Jim, what does he want? Does he want commitment, or does he want to forget about this whole thing? God, I hope not. Last night was amazing. I've never felt so much love for one person, and I think, I hope, that what I felt from him was the same thing. But I can't ask him; he beat me to it, and now I'm stuck here agonizing over corn flakes.
As incredible as last night's passion was, I can't help thinking that there's something to be said for hashing it out first, talking about what this growing attraction between us means before we got to the mind-blowing sex. Maybe if we'd discussed it then, I wouldn't feel like this moment of panic now is slowly stripping years off my life, ones that I can't really afford to lose, not when I follow Jim around the way I do. I get shot at and threatened by criminals at least twice monthly; the last thing I need is to die of a heart attack at the age of twenty-nine. The saying might be way over-used, but it's still applicable--I'm too young to die.
But I know what I want, what I've wanted for the longest time. Something that until last night, I could only hope for in my dreams. I want a future with Jim, the rest of my life. I'm not sure what I'll do if that's not what he's in this for, and the thought that he might want something totally different is definitely contributing to my stress levels.
I take a deep breath; I've come to a decision. I don't know if this is the right answer, though I sure as hell hope it is. I have the feeling that this is one of those one chance only, pass-or-fail deals, and I have no intention of failing this test. It's the most important one I've ever faced, and that's saying a lot, coming from a man who's been in college since he was sixteen.
I finally return Jim's gaze, steeling myself, and tell him, "I think our breakfast this morning should be egg-white omelets, with whole grain toast and fresh fruit."
I watch, my heart beating a staccato rhythm in my chest, as Jim thinks for a moment about what my pronouncement means. The sweet, tender smile that appears on his face tells me that he gets it, that--like always--he knows exactly what I'm talking about.
He knows that I wouldn't dare to endanger something he owns, my heart included. Because it's his now, and I plan on keeping it in good shape for many years to come.
The Cosmic Significance of Eggs by krossero: email@example.com
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