Sisi / Season 1

39⁒

no police – doja cat

I wake up. It's a Saturday. I don't have to.

Maybe it's Étienne breathing down my neck that wakes me.

I inspect my head, rolling the ball of my index on my temples in a circular motion. I sweep my tangled hair away from my face. I check my cheek for drool, before turning.

Okay, my bed is a twin sized one. Therefore, fitting a heavy 6-foot and plus inches giant with toss-to-turn sleeper... doesn't fit.

"Étienne," I call, hoping my morning breath doesn't repulse him too much.

His head sinks further in my down pillow. I feel a little annoyed that I slept without a pillow. I raise a brow and pout.

I reach for the pillow and yank it from underneath his head. I then watch him roll and groan.

"You need to stop sleeping with me. It's unprofessional," I quote my favourite soap opera, although the context is way off.

He grins, shading his eyes from the morning light with his arm. Although I nervously joke about it all the time, it's beginning to bother me.

It doesn't feel like having a sleepover with a boy, which isn't usual on its own. It's starting to get weird.

He lies there on his back, no shirt on. I'm forced to get a good view of his armpit hair. It's only fair if he meets the shaven hairs in the bathtub or pads rolled in the garbage or whatever. He's accidently stepped in wax. I've accidently used his toothbrush.

It's getting weird now.

"Sorry," he seeks forgiveness, "The sofa's lumpy."

"You..." I stop talking and think, "You get a key, and now you think you rule this place?"

He lifts his arm and looks me over.

"You're wearing my favourite shirt," he says the obvious and changes the subject simultaneously.

"Uh," I say, rolling my eyes, "It was the first thing I grabbed when I came in."

"Where were you last night, anyway?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I retort slowly.

"It's just you don't usually come in late," he shrugs, showing me he doesn't actually want to know.

"Were you missing me?" I give him puppy eyes.

"Même pas," he answers in French.

I just stare at him blankly.

"Go make me breakfast," I command, "I want pancakes."

He does make pretty good pancakes. But he only grins at me, while getting up.

"I'm making a protein shake. You can have that," he tells me, as he makes his way to the kitchen.

I watch him pop toast in the toaster. It's a ritual, yes.

"Ew, no!" I disagree.

He then heads into the bathroom and showers. I regret not going first. Now, I won't have any warm water. I think of being evil and turning the tap in the kitchen to spite him. But it stays a thought.

There's a knock at the door. I jump off my bed and walk up. The cold air running up my legs reminds me that I'm not wearing leggings... and that I didn't turn on the heating. I pull the hem of Étienne's shirt down as much as it can stretch. I slide the chain loose and turn the knob.