The sun was slanting in through the window, making spears of bright light dance along the dark bedspread that was bunched up at the end of the bed. The sheets were haphazardly thrown across the body sprawled out, and the alarm on the beside table was beeping frenziedly.

Posters of swimmers hung on the walls, as well as photos of friends and a corkboard containing lists upon lists of schedules and important dates to remember. A jumbled pile of CDs were on the desk; litter in the computer�s space. In the corner was a pile of discarded speedos and bathing caps, with some t-shirts and wind breakers mixed with goggles beside it.

A snore cut through the beeping and the man on the bed leisurely stretched out his long legs and leaned over, his fist connecting hard with the clock radio.

�Fuck,� the man�s voice was muffled due to the fact that he was now breathing into his pillow; his head was pounding, and so was his hand. But at least the alarm had stopped.

He didn�t know what time it was, nor why his alarm was even going off. But at that precise moment, he didn�t really care.

Sleep overtook him once more as he breathed slowly and rhythmically into his pillow. The sun was rising, causing more sunlight to drift in through his window, and cascade across his body lain on the large bed.

The distant sounds of a telephone ringing entered his consciousness as he was sharply jerked awake. Pretty soon, the extension on his cluttered desk was ringing shrilly, attempting to rouse him from the soft cocoon of his bed.

Muttering, he reached over and started swatting at the phone; on the third try, he banged the phone onto the floor, where it was easily accessible.

He put the receiver to his ear and rested it against his shoulder. ��Lo?�

�Mikey. You up?�

His lips curved into a slow smile at the sound of that voice. The voice that was in his dreams, and always right there, up front in his mind. Reminding him.

�Barely,� he replied, his voice thick with sleep; he tried to sit up but failed miserably and he dropped back against his pillows.

�I�m downstairs if you wanna come out.�

Michael could hear the smile in his voice, could clearly see him on the other end of the phone.

He sighed, scratching his stomach and stretching; he looked more like a cat at that moment than a man. �I�ll be right down.�

�I could come up.� An offer of four words that meant so much more than what they seemed.

Michael laughed a throaty laugh. �You could, yeah.� He sat up straight, dangling his legs over the side of the bed. �I�m getting up.�

�Good.� A laugh.

Michael stood up, stumbling slightly as he moved around his room, picking up boxers and shirts and pants; he laid them across his bed, trying to assemble them on his body like one might do with paper dolls.

�Hey, Ian?�

�Mmmm?�

�Boxers or the Ian Thorpe briefs?�

Michael was treated with a low laugh on the other end of the phone. �I think you know the answer to that.�

�Briefs it is,� Michael jumped into the underwear and crooked the phone underneath his chin. �I�m starved.�

�You�re always starved,� Ian teased, his voice light and cheery sort of like the morning, itself, was.

Michael made a face at the phone, and then started laughing. �I forgot you can�t see my expression.�

�It�s very sad,� Ian replied, his voice full of remorse. �Could you perhaps come and unlock the door?�

�What?� Michael stopped moving, one of his legs in a pair of jeans, and the other out. He swayed slightly and then toppled over, cursing and laughing at the same time.

�What in the hell was that noise?� Ian wondered curiously, trying hard not to laugh. �You have to put your pants on ONE leg at a time.�

�I know that,� Michael stated, slipping his other leg into the jeans. �I fell over. I tripped.�

�Likely story.�

�It is likely in this room.�

Ian thought for a moment. �That�s true. You are a bit of a slob, Mikey.�

Michael laughed. �I�m zipping up my jeans and coming out to open the door.�

�Fantastic.�

Michael padded across his hardwood floors and flung open the front door with a flourish. �Ta-da!� Arms spread wide, he stepped back and turned his phone off, allowing Ian entrance to the apartment.

�Hi,� Ian smirked, closing the door behind him.

Michael grinned. �Hey.�

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