The mornings. They were bright. Warm. Breathtaking. The boy before him instantly making the morning sun seem dull in his perspective. A few groggy, muttered words exchanged between them usually, and other times, nothing needed to be said at all, for being in each other’s arms already shouted the loudest words. He would start the conversation, bringing the other out of his deep daze. His words were melodic; a voice calm and deep yet at the same time, cheerful and bright. The other would watch him, how his lips moved and wonder how the sounds could be produced so effortlessly. Most days, the dog would run in as soon as one of them awoke. Other days, the pup would be snoring softly in the background, white noise to the couple saying their good morning’s to each other. The younger’s hand would come up as the other spoke, gently touching at his defined jaw and just that movement, that action, would make the elder’s heart stop and his mind run free. His speech would halt immediately, captivated by the single touch while his lover lay there with a foolish grin on his face. Sometimes, a “you’re beautiful” would pass his lips. Other times, his eyes talked for him. Or maybe it was his lips against his. The two pressed together usually, warming themselves for the day to come and especially to escape the cold flowing through the air from the air conditioned house. Or maybe that was just an excuse to hold each other. Regardless, they would stay in that embrace, silently or loudly, waiting for the alarm to go off before parting hesitantly, arms still tangled in each other’s.

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    The mornings. They are dull. Cold. Lifeless. The pillow before him telling a story of a boy who once lived to provide a smile that could light up an entire nation. The sheets, unmoved and in place neatly; just as he had put them the night before. He stares at the fabric now, though his eyes were lidded and he couldn’t see much now in the dark light. He had bought curtains, used to block the sun. The dog won’t run in anymore, there’s not much to be excited for. He slumbers, at the end of the hallway by the door, waiting for as long as it took, for his other master to come home. The man arises from his side of the bed, peeling the sheets off of him with a solemn expression, bags formed under his eyes as well as red tints lining his eye ball. There’s no point in sleeping for him. There is no sun to wake up to when he opens his eyes.