Method Acting || Joe Keery

F O U R T Y • T W O

I wake up wrapped in Joe again. His arm is around me, his hand over mine with our fingers intertwined.

One leg is pressed up against me, and his other is tucked between mine. I can feel his breath on my neck, as if he was giving me little kisses during the night.

I stretch out my fingers, tense the muscles in my thighs, and stretch my neck slightly. Making tiny movements to test the waters, and seeing if I can slip out of Joes grasp without waking him.

I still. Listening to the soothing sounds of his heartbeat, and his breathing. He sounds like he's still asleep. So far, so good.

I begin to creep, bit by bit, out of his arms. But, he must wake up, because his hold on me tightens and he pulls me back into him. I laugh, and he nuzzles the spot on my neck that is still warm from where he was breathing on it only a minute ago.

"I didn't mean to wake you," I say to him, stroking the hair on his arms.

"Don't leave me," He whispers into my skin, like a promise he's asking me to keep.

"I have to pee," I complain, giggling between words as he nips at my shoulders playfully.

"Hmmmm," Joe hums, considering whether to grant me permission to leave the bed.

I manage to roll over, still wrapped tightly in his arms. I kiss Joes jaw, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose and then finally his lips.

"I love you," I tell him, like a promise I'm willing to keep.

Joes fingers lightly graze my cheekbone, before sliding down to under my chin, lifting it up. He looks into my eyes, but he's not just looking, it's like he's memorising them. This moment. He kisses me deeply, melting into me, and then whispers across my lips.

"I love you too,"

"Good," I say, "Then you'll forgive me for leaving to pee,"

I quickly roll out of the bed, and run into the bathroom. Laughs escape me as I shut the door, hearing Joe shouting out, "Hey! Get back here!"

Once I've tended to my bladders needs, I manage to convince Joe to come out of bed with a lot of pleading and some physical dragging.

I pull Joe into the kitchen, and sit him down at a stool.

"What are you doing?" He asks me, as I start pulling pans and bowls out of the cupboards.

"I bought actual food, and I am cooking us an actual breakfast," I tell him.

Joe begins to stand up and my eyes trail over his shirtless chest for a moment, distracting me.

"Let me help," He says.

"Nope!" I tell him, snapping my eyes from his chest back to his face, "One spouse cooking for the other is romantic. Two spouses arguing in the kitchen, is less so,"

Joe laughs as he sits back down on the stool.

"Spouse?" He asks, barely keeping his face straight.

"I don't know, okay!" I tell him, giving him a little frown for affect. It doesn't take long for a grin to take over my face again though. I'm too happy.

Joe watches me cook for him with an amused look on his face. Sometimes he looks at me with a surprised and impressed look. Other times he's holding back laughter, like when I drop an egg on the floor.

Eventually though, I manage to produce two appetising plates of omelette, croissants and a selection of fruit. Joe grins at me in awe, before digging in.

We spend the morning in our pyjamas, lazily lying over each other on the couch as we read a book each. Speaking every now and then, to read a profound or funny passage to each other. Joe's fingers are absent-mindedly tangling themselves in my hair.