It's a typical Monday morning in the tower. There isn't any need to save the world just yet. Most people probably aren't awake enough for discord yet. We've fallen into our morning routine. The coffee is brewed, sitting patiently on the counter. Cereal bowls are right next to them and the eggs are keeping warm on the stove. It's normal sit down breakfast that we indulge in whenever the opportunity presents itself.
He is fiddling about the kitchen. Cabinets open only to be closed and reopened seconds later. The refrigerator door stays open as he holds the handle and ponders what type of juice to have today. For ten minutes, he's trying to make his mind but still reaches for the orange juice which is what he always chooses.
I know not to comment on it. So I peer over the newspaper, and watch amused. It's clockwork every day. Thank God the paper hides my smile. The toaster pops and he whirls around to grab the bread. He mutters a curse before flinging the hot toast on a plate. Nothing new there either.
He sighs, wiping at bleary eyes. Still tousled from the night before, his red hair falls across his eyes, not yet combed or controlled in the least. He's yet to have his coffee. Reflex time is understandably down. It's to be expected, just like how the fridge door still stands open. Finally, he tosses the butter on the table, pulls out a carton of juice and finally shuts the door. Turning to the table, he sits and starts to assemble his breakfast.
Right on time, the little tired mop haired girl wanders into the kitchen. She pauses in the doorway, yawning widely, extravagant like her father, before joining us at the table. Roy shifts slightly, pulling her up to his lap. She snuggles close to him while he butters the bread around her. When he finishes, he offers it to her, and she takes it eagerly.
Roy waits until she's done before getting up carefully. Back at the counter again, he rustles through the cabinets and pulling out a cereal box. Two more slices of bread go into the toaster and he grabs a bowl on the counter. She always come first, no question about. Box open, pour, box closed. It stays sitting on the counter. Fridge opened, milk out, pour. These are all practiced movements: milk closed, put back, door closed, and he's set again. He shifts his food to the next place setting and puts the cereal in front of her, complete with a colorful spoon.
He goes to sit again, and realizes that he still hasn't gotten to the coffee. He turns, but I'm out of the chair, paper neatly folded on the table. My hand rests on his shoulder as I gently push him back down.
"I've got it."
He nods understanding, giving a tired smile. I'm pouring a cup, light milk and sugar. I can hear the paper rustling as he draws out the small comics page. He folds it perfectly for her, setting it down within her reach. The rest of the paper he tries to put back in some semblance of before, but it simply takes too much effort at this hour of the day.
I wait a moment for the toast to pop, it'll happen any second. In the meantime, I put the cereal carefully back in the place. I set the toast and coffee in front of him and he inhales deeply, enjoying the smell. His eyes contain the gratitude of someone who desperately needs caffeine. "Thanks," he says rubbing his eyes. "I'm slacking today."
"Don't worry about it," I say as I sit back down and carefully rearrange the paper.
He murmurs something, possibly agreement, but cuts himself off taking a long sip from the ceramic mug. He smiles contently. Beside him, Lian's munching happily. He follows my line of sight until he's looking at his little girl. He catches my eye and smiles. I'm sure he knows just how lucky he is.