You're standing in the middle of the cramped kitchen pouring milk into a mug, the stream of liquid hitting ceramic the only sound to fill the static morning air. He is sitting at the dinner table drinking black coffee in his shirt from the night before, saying nothing. You sit across him quietly and think you should take a shower or at least brush your hair because you feel dirty and self-conscious. Now you're thinking you shouldn't have sat down first before checking if you have anything to offer him for breakfast. He's sipping coffee and scrolling through what looks like a news article on his phone on the table. You realise you left yours by the bed. You could have looked up breakfast places. You're about to open your mouth and say something to break the silence, but he speaks first, looking up through his hair, wet from washing his face earlier, and says, “You make me really happy, you know?”
Suddenly, you are reminded of the way he traces circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, and the way he reacts in text when you send him pictures of yourself, and the way he talks about you to his friends, and the way he looks asleep next to you in bed. Suddenly, breakfast is the last thing on your mind.
“I know.”
And you tell him he does too.