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Rose blinked wearily against the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, and turned her head against the pillow and away from the light. With her face in the dark blue pillowcase, she took a deep breath and sighed. Her bedroom window didn’t face east, but evidently John’s did. She wouldn’t have noticed last night anyway.
The middle of the bed smelled like him, and her, and though she rather wished she hadn’t woken up yet, it made her smile. Rose closed her eyes. John wasn’t in the bed with her, but the empty space was still warm. The sheets were soft against her bare skin, and she wondered if he had the same stomach full of butterflies she did. Maybe that’s why he was already up. They’d been friends long enough that Rose knew John hated sitting still at the best of times, so she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to hang around in bed after… well.
She rolled onto her back and immediately flung an arm over her eyes. The sun was stronger from this angle and she groaned, as the light and movement made her head feel spinny. Yesterday hadn’t been particularly special. They’d met up after work and ordered takeaway, as they often did. They’d put on a movie and made fun of the historical and scientific inaccuracies, as they often did. So they’d drank a fair bit of wine. That happened sometimes. So Rose had leaned against John, snuggled up under a shared blanket. That happened sometimes too. The kissing, now that never happened. The clothes coming off, that had never happened either. Until last night, when all that and more happened. She was surprised they’d made it into bed at all.
The thought sent a little shiver curling into her belly and a smirk curling up her lips. Rose stifled a giggle and willed herself to sit up, holding the sheet to her chest as she squinted and scanned the room for her clothes. Her trousers were near the door, but she remembered that she’d shed her shirt when they were still on the couch. Her knickers and one of John’s shirts would have to do. He appeared to adhere to the ‘leave it in the basket’ school of thought when it came to laundry, and Rose felt like she was in a cheesy movie as she fished an oxford shirt out and buttoned it up. Smiling to herself, Rose steeled her nerves and padded into the hall.
She could hear John puttering around and smell bacon frying as she neared the kitchen. His back was to her and he was humming tunelessly to himself as he pulled dishes out of the cupboards and got a pot ready for tea. It took her a moment - she was distracted by the way his shoulders moved under his snug t-shirt as he reached for something in the fridge - but Rose eventually pulled a barstool out from the island, letting it scrape purposefully across the floor before perching herself on it.
John jumped a little at the noise and turned around. “Rose! Good morning! Perfect timing, I’m just getting breakfast started.”
“I see that,” she said. “Smells nice.”
He grinned, the big goofy one that had always been her favourite, and took up the kettle as it clicked off. He filled the teapot and set it, along with a mug, in front of Rose on the island. “So, Rose Tyler,” he said, “how do you like your eggs?”
“I’m allergic to eggs.”
John’s face fell but his eyes widened. “Shit, that’s right! I’m sorry, I totally forgot.” He began pacing about the kitchen, tugging at his ear.
“Keep an eye on that bacon.”
John pounced at the stove and moved the bacon out of the pan and onto a plate covered in paper towel. The grease spat at him and he swore. “Well, it’s a bit dark but I’ve got half a pack left, so I suppose I haven’t entirely mucked this up.”
“It’s just extra crispy. I like it that way,” she said gently.
He turned back to her and leaned against the counter. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
They regarded each other carefully, and Rose could see the worry lingering in John’s big brown eyes. She knew it wasn’t just about eggs. “About-”
“Rose-” John said at the same time. “Sorry, go ahead.”
Rose bit her lip, noticing that John’s gaze darted there as she did. “I just, I wanted to say… I’m really happy about last night.”
“You are?”
“I am.” She reached across the island and took John’s hand.
“I am too,” he said. “It was… well.” He shook his head, smiling gently. “It was pretty brilliant.”
“Wasn’t it?” she said, laughing. “This morning’s going pretty well too.”
“Even with the eggs?”
“Yes, even with the eggs! John, you’re being daft. It’s the gesture that’s important. Not everyone offers to make a girl breakfast.”
“I’m so sorry, Rose. Oh bollocks, I was going to make French toast too.”
“Regular toast is fine, John,” she laughed. “I know you have an excellent selection of jams.”
“Oh yes,” John said, spinning back to the fridge with a flourish. “Rose Tyler. How do you like your toast?”