Page 73 of The Mourning Throne
Was this what his life had come to?
Mundane conversations. Petty arguments.
They worked together. Lived together. Killed together.
And once Lex incorporated himself into Morgan’s morning routine, peace became a theory. Something that existed only in the seconds before dawn. A concept with no proof of life.
Morgan hadn’t set an alarm in weeks. He didn’t need to.
Lex would always yank the covers off him the same time every morning.
A one-man storm in boxers he hadn’t asked permission to borrow. They never fit right; tight on the hips, billowing around his legs.
Even if this morning had started differently, the end-point was always the same.
And somehow, Morgan no longer minded.
Not when silence had become something else entirely—no longer safety.
Now it sounded too much like absence.
It was dangerous, how easily Lex filled in the spaces Morgan didn’t know he’d left empty.
More dangerous still, how quickly Morgan had stopped caring.
He picked up the straightener. Moved on to the next section.
Morgan didn’t speak again until they were out the door, Lex swaying back and forth beside him, knocking into his shoulder every few steps. The street was wet—leftover rain or a new hire,watering the hotel’s flowers within an inch of its life. Either way, it soaked the hem of Lex’s pants within a block. He didn’t complain.
“I promised you coffee,” Morgan said.
“You did?” Lex glanced over.
Paused.
Then—
“You do owe me coffee! Hell yes. Good start to the day.”
Ten blocks from the hotel, but the walk was always welcome. Especially when it was still early enough that most people remained asleep, tucked into bed.
No crowds. No honking of messy traffic.
Peace. Calm.
With Lex’s fingers grazing against his like they wanted to hold on.
The shop was a narrow place tucked between a defunct apothecary and a florist that smelled like spoiled roses. Morgan had found the place a few days ago. Sparse lighting. Industrial shelves lined with a mix of imported and local beans. A clear case with cheese danish and breakfast rolls. Not a hint of charm in sight.
It didn’t invite lingering. It asked you to order, consume your selection of items, and leave.
Perfection.
Morgan ordered for both of them. The barista didn’t bother smiling—another reason he liked it here. No fake customer service voice. No expectation of conversation.
He took the corner booth and Lex followed.
“You know,” Lex said, opening the to-go cup and blowing on the steam. “When I die, I don’t want a coffin. I wanna be buried in a pastry case.”
