I'm Yours (PRN)

γɒᗡ γɿɘvƎ ɿoᖷ bnomɒiᗡ ɘnO

"Wake up."

Asleep, he dreamt of a field of clovers decorating the ground he floats above as he peacefully rests on a cloud. Serenity struggles to keep its grasping on him as Iris stands at the entrance of his bedroom, flicking the light switch up and down making an annoyed Prince roll over. He groans, pulling the blanket over his head. The act is enough for Iris to stop playing with the switch.

Prince's grumbles travel from underneath his fort of linen. "What?" An irate twang sharpening his reply, Prince remains face first in his pillows.

"I made you food," she offers.

She didn't spend the night but she may as well have. Iris didn't attend Prince's rehearsal, choosing to take a rest day instead, but her absence was felt. After rehearsal in the Minneapolis Auditorium, he recorded in the warehouse for an extra two hours. Then, he took Susannah home with him to record more but when she decided she wanted to go back to Wendy and Lisa's to sleep sometime around 1:15 AM, he was left alone. A short phone-call with Jill couldn't settle his yearning for attention. By 2:03 AM, Iris was on her way to hear whatever it was that Prince mustered up.

When she inevitably crashed and burned, he noticed the difference in her choice to sleep in his guest room as he compared it to Susannah's decision to leave all-together. And while he may have woken up on the wrong side of his bed, Iris' morning presence has a way of soothing the savage beast.

"Sleep's more important," he manages to croak. The frog in his throat distorts and deepens his delivery.

Refusing to accept his denial, Iris cautiously crosses the threshold of his bedroom's entrance. "You're turning pale. I think you need Vitamin D too. I've never seen you this pale before. I mean—"

"Please," groans Prince, raising his head to stop her. He'll need another ten minutes of peace before he can deal with the ever flowing of his favorite chatter-box. "I just woke up." He corrects himself, "You just woke me up."

Emotionally intelligent enough to not take his annoyance too personally, Iris brushes the rain off of her coat. "Here." She extends her arm to offer him a plate of breakfast. Cheesy scrambled eggs, sausage, and sweet brown sugar pancakes that have crispy edges.

Prince sits up in the bed, he accepts the plate with his left hand as his right rubs his eye. "Thanks."

"Plans for today," asks Iris, handing him a fork. She walks around the edge of his bed to set a glass of orange juice on his dresser.

A shirtless Prince uses his bedhead as a cranial cushion against the headboard he leans again. Sleepy eyes fall to his plate as he cuts into the breakfast prepared for him. "A twelve hour rehearsal, if my body lets me." The after thought of an entire 24 hours of breaking from the process of rehearsing sounds like torture to his mind though his body begs for it.

"Take a break, P." Iris walks to his window, opening the blinds ever so slightly to let in a tiny peek of sunlight. The sun rests high in the sky as its peak is to be reached in two hours. "Take a break while you still have the option to take a break. This tour is tearing me a new hole so I know you're wide open." Turning around to the sight of Prince's cheeks full of food, Iris settles on the ottoman at the end of his bed. "I got asked on a date yesterday," she says, trying to make conversation.

A stale scold sharply snapping his narrowed sight to Iris as he chews, he stares her down. "A date?" His planned confession of calling Monica is washed away. A date, his brain echoes again.

"It was Frank from the place on 8th," Iris explains. A brand new club recently built earlier in the summer is one they frequented twice. A known DJ in the city is a resident entertainer there. Their circles intertwining, Prince is familiar with the disc jockey when a name is mentioned. "I won't be going out with him—"