“we can’t make any promises now, can we, babe? but you can make me a drink.” taylor swift — delicate

https://open.spotify.com/track/6NFyWDv5CjfwuzoCkw47Xf?si=PJ_XqXQCRJ6vtn80BmwceQ

“Morning, my not-so-little sunshine.”

My head weighs a ton, a usual occurrence courtesy of my let-loose act last night. The last thing I remember was Bara’s worried face and Kenzo’s laugh, and then the rest was blurry and sporadic. I even recalled some weirdass memory, like—Miles tucked me in bed last night. Where did that one come from?

“Lu mau aspirin apa gue teriak di kuping?”

I open my eyes wider and only now I realize—I think that last one wasn’t a misplaced memory. Miles is really standing in front of my window, with a glass of water and aspirin on the other. “Lu udah muntah semalem, so I assume sekarang cuma sakit kepala aja.”

“Ssshhh… you’re too loud,” I say as I reach out my hand, and he sits on the side of the bed to give me the meds. He laughs slightly at my messed-up condition—forgetting the fact that he’s the cause. “You look like shit.”

“Diem.”

“Mau sarapan apa?”

Now that my head starts to clear up, I could see him clearly, too. I feel like I haven’t seen that kind of smile in a while; his fangs cutely peeks out, his eyes are lit up, like he carries no weight in him.

I unknowingly reach my hand out to touch his cheek. He jerks slightly at my touch, for he wasn’t expecting that.

“Lu beneran, ternyata. I thought I was hallucinating.”

“Lu ga konsumsi apa-apa selain alkohol kan, semalem?”

I hit his upper arm—a bit of useless move actually, knowing how toned he is. “Udah sana bikinin gue sarapan… Mau ramen khas lu biasanya. And also please, coffee.”

—

Miles is busy in my kitchen; while I sit on the kitchen counter, watching him in silence. This scene is familiar since he’s been in my house for years now, acting like he owns the place. He’d made me that ramen maybe a hundred time. He knows where Madre keeps new toothbrush, he knows how to use our washing machine, he even knows how to clean the pond since it’s a ritual he has with Padre. No one is allowed to clean the pond but two of them.

He’s in the family too deep, I guess; and I understand why we were delicate with this.

We just don’t want to lose each other.

“Silahkan, madam.” He puts a bowl of ramen—his own recipe, my favorite thing to eat after a bad hangover. I sip the broth and it’s as delicious as I could remember. An intrusive thought suddenly crosses my mind, and I decide to shoot it away.

“Lu bikinin ramen Clara juga, gak?”