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May. 9th, 2009 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat8chaSchroeder wasn't terribly surprised that when consciousness impeded on his mind at a god forsaken hour of the morning he rolled over on the bed and found that Charlie Brown's side was empty. Schroeder lifted his head, but the pressure of sleep was impossible to fight, and Schroeder dropped his head onto Charlie Brown's pillow, the strains of Moonlight Sonata stroking over his spine and seeping into the base of his brain. It was too early, dawn just beginning to peek under the edges of their window shades.
Schroeder sighed into the pillow, which smelled like vanilla and safeguard. He knew where Charlie Brown was, like he had known since he had woken up. Schroeder's movements are legato, and he pulls his dressing robe around his shoulders but lets the terry cloth hang around him, not bothering to belt it. Schroeder's steps slur across the floor, which is cold beneath his feet.
"Charlie Brown?" Schroeder's voice cracks the silence of dawn, the chill of morning.
Charlie Brown is standing in their kitchen, a steaming coffee mug held in his hands. Charlie Brown turns to look at him, and the sunlight halos Charlie brown like the crest of a fermata. Like a fermata, Schroeder feels the moment still, waiting for the conductor to break it off.
"Sorry," Charlie Brown apologizes, smiling sheepishly. "Did I wake you up? I couldn't sleep."
Schroeder shuffles to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. "I could play the piano to help you sleep."
Charlie Brown smiles at Schroeder, and the beat of Schroeder's heart moves from 4/4 into double time.
"I should get up anyway, but maybe tonight."
Schroeder sighed into the pillow, which smelled like vanilla and safeguard. He knew where Charlie Brown was, like he had known since he had woken up. Schroeder's movements are legato, and he pulls his dressing robe around his shoulders but lets the terry cloth hang around him, not bothering to belt it. Schroeder's steps slur across the floor, which is cold beneath his feet.
"Charlie Brown?" Schroeder's voice cracks the silence of dawn, the chill of morning.
Charlie Brown is standing in their kitchen, a steaming coffee mug held in his hands. Charlie Brown turns to look at him, and the sunlight halos Charlie brown like the crest of a fermata. Like a fermata, Schroeder feels the moment still, waiting for the conductor to break it off.
"Sorry," Charlie Brown apologizes, smiling sheepishly. "Did I wake you up? I couldn't sleep."
Schroeder shuffles to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. "I could play the piano to help you sleep."
Charlie Brown smiles at Schroeder, and the beat of Schroeder's heart moves from 4/4 into double time.
"I should get up anyway, but maybe tonight."
