David wakes up to the bed sinking beside him, a hand running through his hair. He manages to squint one eye open reluctantly before they flutter shut when Jake leans down to kiss him. He tastes like the peppermint toothpaste he likes, and David pulls away, self-conscious of his own morning breath.

“Morning,” Jake says, kissing his shoulder instead. “Your check out’s at ten, right?”

“Yeah,” David mumbles.

“Kay, it’s eight-thirty, so probably time to wake up if you want time for a shower and breakfast before you head out?” Jake asks.

David sits up quickly. “I thought I set an alarm.”

“I turned it off,” Jake says. “It was way too early for that shit.”

David scowls at him.

“Dude,” Jake says with a bit of a laugh. “Your hotel’s not far at all, you definitely didn’t need to be up at six.”

“What if I needed to pack?” David asks.

“For four hours?” Jake says. “Plus, you’ve totally already packed, don’t lie.”

“What if there was traffic?” David asks.

“You could literally walk it and still make it in time,” Jake counters.

David feels rushed now. He doesn’t need to shower, at least, but he has to eat breakfast, and make sure he’s packed everything he’s left at Jake’s, and when he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror his hair is a tangled mess of loose curls from the air dry it had last night, so he’ll have to fix that, and there isn’t enough time for all of those things, a rush of tasks until they’re saying goodbye.

David makes toast while Jake showers, eats it over the counter while he waits for the coffee to finish brewing. While Jake shaves David brushes his teeth, wets his hair so he can dry it properly.

“I like it wavy,” Jake protests. “It looks pretty like that.”

Pretty is not what David is going for. He combs it carefully straight, adds just enough gel for it to hold.

“You better keep in touch, eh?” Jake says, meeting his eye in the mirror. “Like for real keep in touch this time.”

“What’s ‘for real’ keeping in touch?” David asks.

“Maybe answer my texts more?” Jake says.

“I answer your texts,” David protests. Most of the time, anyway. Always, if there’s a question, accompanied by a question mark or not.

“You’re the worst texter ever,” Jake says.

“Excuse me?” David says. He thinks that’s pretty rich from someone who doesn’t use proper grammar, punctuation, or spelling at any point.

“You know what I mean,” Jake says.

“I do not,” David says.

“Where’s your phone right now?” Jake asks.

“Your living room, I think?” David says. “Or maybe your room.”

“Where’s my phone right now?” Jake asks. David suspects it’s a rhetorical question, considering it’s sitting on the counter.

“On the counter,” David answers anyway.