Damn, this picture makes me feel things.
Charlie's POV
"I ain't thinkin' bout you!" I belt, swaying my hips a bit. Listen, it's a Beyonce kind of Sunday morning. No one's up yet, so I figured why not, ya know? I'm trying to be quiet but like, you can't not belt Beyonce. You just can't. "I ain't sorry."
Might as well put this fancy home-theater system to use that Zayn insisted we have. It's a shame really- it hardly gets used, since we're not having too many wild parties anymore. "I don't give a fuck, chuckin' my deuces up! Suck on my balls...pause. I had enough." Okay so I definitely just put the spatula down to start screwing in the light bulb (you know this is my go-to dance move.) "I ain't thinkin' bout you!"
But where was this song when I was cursing the shit out of Luke after he screwed me over?
"Oh, nice. I'm sure the kids would appreciate you telling them to suck on your balls." I grin, slightly embarrassed as I turn around to face an amused Zayn. Clearly having just woken up, he looks yummy in a pair of black Adidas track pants with the tip of his Ralph Lauren boxers peeking out. And the messy hair that could totally pass for a style? Yes.
And that fricking morning voice.
"S'pose it's a good thing the kids are still sleeping, then, right?" I turn back around to tend to the french toast, but having to stop to raise the roof when the Queen tells me to put my hands high. I'm gonna let myself just be carefree...it's one of the few days when I don't feel bogged down and full of sorrow; when I feel like I have a shot at being regular old Charlie. Regular old quirky Charlie.
Zayn chuckles, kicking off the doorframe to walk over and come stand next to me. The song switches as he takes in my perfectly golden french toast. I was going to dice up some fruit for a nice fruit platter, but I decided that might be over the top. I'll admit that part of the reason I'm going all out is so that perhaps an extravagant breakfast will soften the blow to Mar that he's going to be starting a new preschool tomorrow. He may take it well, though; any chance to make new friends is fine by him. And given that those kids seriously pissed him off.
The other reason for my fine display of culinary skill is that Talia's stopping by pretty early with the finished invitations (!!) that probably should have been done and mailed out in the summer time. But better late than never, I always say.
Britney Spears starts playing through the speakers as I hand Zayn the pack of Turkey sausage and a fork. "Sick playlist," he says, beginning to splay the meat out on a sheet pan to put in the oven.
I can't tell if he's being serious or not, honestly.
"Right? I thought so too. It's my empowering women playlist." He snorts at that, but throws his hands up in surrender when I glare. All is forgiven when he places said hands on his hips and gyrates....which is probably the only way to describe the movement of his body, cause bless his soul, he tries to dance.
"Oops I did it again." He uses a falsetto voice to sing along to Britney. "I played with your heart." I giggle as he takes it one step further and slides across the floor, holding the fork up to his mouth and singing more of the lyrics. And I thought I was bad...
Though I guess I am since I provide backup with the spatula as we really get into it. We're such dorks. We're belting our best Britney- like, full on space-galactic music video when the song changes sooner than I would have liked. The both of us look at each other before bursting out laughing. "I feel like that went a hell of a lot further than it should have," he snorts.
"Probably," I agree. Bed Peace starts next and we both look at each other again, a private smile playing on our lips. Zayn used to constantly blast this when we first got serious, claiming it as a 'tune.' We're singing along to Jhene as we make an assembly line of sorts- he scrambles the eggs and pours them into the pan before passing me the dirty stuff to wash.
