I wake up with a slight headache from a restless night. My pillow is a squashed mass, the duvet hangs out of the bed, lying half on the floor. So am I. I have always been a stomach sleeper. This is my favourite position of all. My left arm hangs over the edge of my bed, fingertips lightly touching the floor. The wood of the old floorboards radiates a warmth and yet is cold on my skin at the same time. An unpleasant tingling sensation spreads over my shoulder and arm. It comes to a halt in my hand and now I feel the cold very clearly. My arm has fallen asleep. This is not the first time this has happened. In my twisted sleeping position, legs stretched far from me, left arm twisted under my body and the other somewhere in my face, I pretty much make a bizarre picture. But I lie here alone. No one bothers.

The first rays of the day push boldly through the curtains. They tickle my skin and the tip of my nose. Blinking, I lift my head and soon lower it again. A glance at the alarm clock tells me that it is still early in the morning. Why am I already awake? I'm usually a deep sleeper and don't let the sun wake me up. Usually, the bedroom is also darkened. But last night I seem to have forgotten to lower the blinds. Annoyed, I pull the duvet over my head and welcome the darkness and ensuing silence like an old friend. Silence. It is quiet now. But until recently it wasn't.

The sound of water, the metallic sound of a belt buckle, the smell of coffee, the click of a door. Hectically I pull the blanket off my head and sit up. The room is empty, the door to the bathroom ajar. I listen into the silence of the morning. But it remains so. Silence. It's the first morning after Alec moved in and the images of last night creep into my mind. His excited face, his disappointed look. His soft words and my breathed kiss on his forehead.

The jerky sitting up has done my head no good. My temples throb uncomfortably and my back aches where the bones of my spine were pressed hard against the wooden slab. Sex on a desk is horny, no question about it. But my back makes me pay for it for days. Like a punishment for a sin committed. Yet something as beautiful and sensual as what we experienced together yesterday could never be a sin. And yet an oppressive feeling lies heavy as lead over me.

I toss and turn restlessly in my bed. I am tired, feel battered, my head aches and my eyes burn. But sleep just won't come again. The numbers on my alarm clock scream at me that it is simply far too early. Yet I just can't find my way back to sleep. I get up and head straight for the stairs and downstairs. There is a faint smell of coffee in the air. From half-closed eyes I catch sight of the dining table and stop short.

Irritated, I blink, but it stays that way. The dining table is set. A plate, a cup. A knife, a spoon and a bowl of muesli standing next to a basket of fresh rolls. A thermos flask with fresh coffee in it, judging by the smell. Fruit spread and butter. The only thing missing is a bouquet of red roses and a second place setting. Then the whole place would be the perfect setting for a romantic couple's breakfast.

Sighing loudly, I settle down on the chair and bury my face in my hands. The last time I had such a breakfast was the day I went to college and left my parents' house. Mum made pancakes with syrup and strawberries. My dad raved about his college days, the football team and fraternity, wild parties and the love of his life. We laughed and talked and had a tearful goodbye. The memory is hitting me hard and unexpectedly right now. Shortly after, Mum got sick and a while later she died, leaving me here alone.

Tears wet my skin. The memories of my mother, the pain and grief of the past years push to the surface. Far too soon, the angel of death took her with him. She was not allowed to celebrate the graduation of my studies with me. To sit proudly among the other parents and watch her only child receive his diploma. Instead, Ragnor sat in her designated seat with a fat grin and teary eyes.

But most of all I am burdened by the fact that I cannot make her greatest wish come true. A loving strong man by my side and a wedding for her child.

I wallow in my memories for a while, banishing the dull ones and replacing them with happy ones. Suddenly I remember that Alec is not here. My gaze wanders to the sofa and, as might be expected, it is empty. No dark fuzzy head peeking over the edge of the duvet.

Shaking my head, I sit there and stare at the picture that presents itself. The duvet and the pillow lie neatly at the end of the sofa. The small sofa cushions are carefully draped and there is a note on the table. Curious, I walk over and recognise a beautiful curved script and my name jumps out at me accusingly.

Dear Magnus

I have made you breakfast. Since I don't yet know your preferences in this regard, I decided on rolls and muesli. The little bakery around the corner is really nice and the staff very friendly. Enjoy it.

I hope coffee is okay.

I'll be home late tonight. But then I'd like to talk to you about last night. Please, Magnus, just talk. We really need to talk.

Have a nice day. Alec