I sleep past eleven on Saturday, and when I wake, Charlie sleeps still, his arm draped across my body. We face each other, and where I am in shadow, bright morning light spills over Charlie and highlights his features. His brown hair and heavy lashes, which lay against his cheeks in sleep, seem to glow golden at the ends, as if they’ve been dipped in sunlight. His plump, rosy lips are barely parted in the center. There is no tension in his jaw, no strain in his eyes or brow; his breathing is slow and comfortable, and the way that he holds me is wonderfully different: still longingly, but much less warily, as if he’s realized that he keeps me in much more than a physical way now, and that I won’t leave his side.

I remember the medicine from last night, and wonder if that is the reason for his deep, late slumber, or if he was simply as exhausted as I. Unaware of the possible affects of his prescription, and equally as unknowing of how to recognize them, I lay my palm against his cheek, and then his forehead, checking for a fever. His skin is no warmer than usual. I push his wavy curls back from his forehead and kiss his nose before shuffling out from under his arm. If it weren’t for my growling tummy, I would lie next to him all day. He moves his arm closer to himself as I scoot from the bed, and then he shifts to lie on his stomach.

I exit the bedroom, and am nearly to the kitchen when I realize that Cooper has followed me.

“Hey, buddy,” I scratch my fingertips against his head, “You’re not used to Charlie sleeping this late, huh?”

He walks beside me to the back door and scurries out. The air is brisk and I shiver as it hits my mostly bare skin – I wear only Charlie’s white, collared button down, which is mostly unbuttoned, at that. As I head into the kitchen, I pull up the neck where it has fallen from my shoulders, and decide quickly that I want hot tea for breakfast.

When I’ve made my cup, and let Cooper inside again, I pad back to the bedroom, taking small sips of my drink to test the temperature. I crawl back under the covers as quickly as I can, rubbing my cold feet together under the warm sheets. Charlie’s face is turned away from me now, but I can tell that he is still deep in sleep.

While I sip my hot tea, I text my parents good morning, and begin to think about how much studying I’ll need to do for my finals this week. I figure that I’ve kept up well, and if Charlie will help me with a few physics questions, I’ll need only a couple of hours of review before my tests on Monday and Wednesday.

As I’m finishing up my cup, Charlie suddenly moves his arms and stretches them over his head, sighing and turning towards me with a sleepy smirk, his large eyes still mostly closed. He scoots towards me, as I sit cross legged, leaning back only slightly against the pillows behind me, and he folds his arms in my lap and rests his head on them.

I shiver again, from the added warmth of his body. I take my last drink of tea and set my cup on the table beside the bed, reaching down to bury my fingers into his messy hair.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

“Morning, baby,” He says softly. I can see only his profile, his eyes still closed, and the corner of his lips blissfully upturned.

“Do you feel alright?” I ask, “We both slept so late.”

“You could’ve woken me up. I feel good, but those pills made me sleep like a rock.”

“You should eat something, especially if you’re going to be taking more. Let me make you breakfast?”

Charlie pulls himself from my lap with a large inhale of breath, grabbing my waist as he falls away and tugging me onto him. I straddle his hips, and trace my fingers in patters along his stomach.

“You can make me something, but let me wake up first,” he smiles up at me.

I stare down at my two index fingers as they trace symmetric patterns on his skin, and then I look back at his face. He watches my fingers too, his eyes covered by his lids as he gazes down at my touch, his lips still pulled into a half smile.

I can almost feel the heat of sunlight on my back, and I realize that from where I sit, my body is a barrier, keeping away the light that matches him perfectly.

I move off of him and take my place beside him again. His body follows mine and we’re fast in the position that we were when I woke – face to face, – but instead of his arm over me, his moves his hand to my shoulder, and rubs it gently.

“Don’t get up yet,” He smiles.

“I’m not,” I breathe, “I just wanted to see you like this.”

He looks at me questioningly, and I explain.

“Sometimes, the way the sun hits your face – I don’t know, it’s like you’re made of gold. You look stoical, but precious, too. It suits you.”

“Does it?” he grins, obviously amused.

“Yeah,” I smile, biting my lip, “I just feel like I’m meant to see you that way. I guess I can’t explain it.”

“I think I understand,” he props himself up on his elbow, and pulls my hair, now tangled in his fingers, forward slowly, letting it collect the light that spread over him and turning it from a dark, duller auburn into a more fiery, glistening color.

“That’s how I see you all the time,” He says softly, letting my hair fall from his hands, “But close your eyes now.”

Without questioning him, I let my eyelids fall closed, and Charlie moves to hover over me, shifting me onto my back and keeping both of us between the sheets. I feel his hands move over the only two buttons that hold his shirt together on me, and separate them slowly. Then, his lips press against the skin of my stomach, and he drags them down, whispering for me to keep my eyes closed between his soft kisses.

Charlie eventually lets me make him breakfast, even though we’re well in to lunchtime when I finally make our eggs and pancakes. When I insist on cleaning up after, he doesn’t even protest. He kisses my forehead, thanks me for the food, and tells me that he’s going to get dressed. For what, I’ve no idea. Since he’s taken his pain medication again, and already looks a bit drowsy, I assume that we won’t be doing much today.

I finish cleaning quickly, and decide that I should probably put on some sort of actual clothing as well, since I’m still in only Charlie’s shirt. I start towards the bedroom when I hear Charlie call my name.

“Could you come into my office, please?” He says, loudly enough that I can hear him in the living room.

I’m surprised enough that rather than answer, I just hurry to his office door, which is standing open, uncommonly.

As I inch my way inside, I see Charlie. He stands with his back to me, staring up at the wall of sketches that hang over his desk. His hands are clasped together behind his back, and the sleeves of his black shirt are pushed up to his elbows. I sigh involuntarily at the sight – an artist examining his work. It’s as captivating as the sketches themselves.

He turns very slowly, his dark blue eyes seem to be filled with enough peace to cure the world, “I want to show you these now, if you’d like.”

I nod and walk slowly to stand by him. His eyes follow me, and when I’m finally beside him, he smiles down at me and reaches for my hand in a shy, unintentionally cute kind of way.

He begins to explain his sketches to me. Some, he details individually; others, he uses to explain certain techniques or mechanics. He even tries to relate some of his work to past physics lessons that he’s helped me with. He keeps my hand in his as his other points and gestures over the ink and pencil marks.

As interested as I am in the intricacies of his designs, I find myself equally as absorbed in his openness and sincerity. His eyes do not necessarily light with passion as he teaches me, but rather, they hold the same wise, honest authenticity that I’ve seen in him since we first became friends. He is intelligent and innovative. When listening to him, I realize that, even when he seems clumsy with his ego, even when he doubts that he is enough, he has an excellent understanding of who he is.

I learn that, while some of his sketches are completely his own plans, most are renovations. When he has finished walking me around the office, he lets go of my hand, allowing me to observe as I please while he goes to his large, comfortably plush looking desk chair and takes a seat, spinning it around so that he can watch me as I stand in front of one of his easels.

I look for a while longer before making my way to him, and allowing him to pull me onto his lap.

“Was it Chris – your uncle’s brother, I mean – who first made you interested in architecture and building?”

“Yes. Not intentionally. My uncle was always trying to find things that interested me, not just sports. When I was very young, I think he just wanted to find hobbies for me so that I would think simply, like other kids. I was eight when Chris was in the middle of building a huge new house on a piece of property that my uncle had always loves. He was curious, and took me with him while his brother and the crew were working one day. I was completely fascinated in everything going on, and my uncle knew. From then on, Chris would let me go with him now and then, and teach me about what he did as a builder. I was always drawing and playing with building sets, pretending to make things. I never liked action figures or video games, and I wasn’t creative in the way of drawing cartoons or illustrations, but I loved to make plans and build things.”

“So much for thinking simply, like other kids, I guess,” I smile down at Charlie.

“I wasn’t thinking about it in complex detail yet,” he laughs, “It kept my mind occupied in the way that my aunt and uncle wanted. When I was in high school, Chris actually let me work with his crew a bit. I was more interested in renovations than taking plans from the ground up, but I did a bit of everything. After I got into trouble a couple of time though, I was afraid that he didn’t trust me, and I didn’t want him to feel obligated to keep me around just because he saw me as his nephew. I didn’t want to be a burden like that.”

I consider for a second asking what sort of trouble Charlie caused, but I wasn’t interested in changing the subject.

“Why were you more interested in renovations?” I ask curiously.

One of his hands lies in my lap, and I play with his rings as he answers me.

“I felt like I couldn’t fix a lot of things that I wanted to as a child. And it wasn’t just me – I realized that there were a lot of important things in the world that people were helpless to save, to repair. Yet, we could renovate houses and buildings. I always thought if I could fix those, then I wouldn’t be so bothered with the fact that I couldn’t help… people, in the ways that they really needed it. Because, you know, size matters, and buildings are much bigger” he smirks, using the cliché to avoid detailing what exactly he meant by people.

“Why did you choose boxing then?” I ask, tracing over the ring that I gave him.

“I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I can only disappoint myself in the ring, really. I mean, sure Mark is invested, but he knows I can win, and that he can always find someone else to train, if I should stop winning. My promoters aren’t personally involved…”

I look up at him, removing my fingers from his ring and pushing them into his hair. “You know you’re not a disappointment, Charlie. You’re worthy of doing whatever you want,” he smiles slightly, “I’m glad that you now know there’s more to me than just going after punching bags and listening to old music, though.”

“Oh me too, I was getting seriously nervous about your lack of complexity,” I giggle, “I’m never bored by what I know about you. I just want to know more because I love you.”

Charlie and I are interrupted by a buzzing noise.

“That’s me,” he states, and I take it as a cue to climb off of his lap. He stands after me, pulling his phone from his back pocket.

“I need to take this outside. I should just be a minute.”

“Okay. Is it Mark?” I ask, realizing that I probably sound suspicious. The Isaacs are really the only calls that Charlie would never take in front of me, though. In fact, other than Mark and Casey, he never got many calls.

“No,” he says, nearing the door, “Just a friend I’ve been waiting to hear from.”

He disappears into the hallway then, leaving me alone with his sketches.