Storms

03 | cirrus

0 3

cirrus: wispy, detached clouds found at high altitudes.

❝The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction.❞

- Proverbs 1:7

MORNING BRINGS A RARE, WARM GLOW OF SUNSHINE, and Elliot opens her eyes to a single ray of sunlight filtering in through the pale curtains. Resisting the urge to burrow further into the warm blankets, she brings herself to her feet and manages to go through the mundane actions of the morning without the feeling of normalcy.

Running a brush through her hair until it consists of silky strands, Elliot eases out of the room and makes her way into the kitchen, where she finds Tanner at the stove, flipping pancakes. She smiles at the remembrance of his cooking—when she was younger, he'd always draw a smiley face onto her pancakes with maple syrup, claiming it looked like her and truly making her smile.

Tanner glances up when she enters the kitchen, his gaze tracking down to where his clothes completely drown her form before he meets her gaze with a smile. "Hey," he greets.

She smiles tentatively. "Hey."

"Did you sleep well?" Tanner asks, glancing up at her as he flips another pancake.

"I slept fine, thank you," Elliot replies politely, unnerved.

Tanner points towards the coffee maker. "I made some coffee, if you'd like."

She shakes her head. "No, thank you." She smiles sheepishly when he glances over at her in surprise. "I don't drink coffee. I prefer tea or hot chocolate," she explains.

He nods in understanding as he hands her a place with three pancakes stacked on top. "Add maple syrup as you like," he says, nodding towards the bottle sitting on the kitchen counter.

"There's no way I'll finish all of this," Elliot says, staring at the plate.

He laughs. "I'll finish whatever you don't eat."

She glances towards the pan, where he's currently pouring more batter. "How many are you going to eat, Tanner?" she asks in disbelief. "I'm probably only going to eat one."

Tanner shrugs halfheartedly. "Like I said, I'll finish whatever you don't."

Elliot reluctantly takes a seat at the kitchen island, gingerly picking up a fork and knife. Almost instinctively, she reaches for the bottle of maple syrup and dots a smiley face on top.

"Hey, do you want some—" Tanner freezes as he turns around and stares at Elliot's pancakes. His gaze flickers up to hers, his eyes flashing. "Don't play around with me, Elliot," he says, his voice hard.

Elliot offers a shrug, though her expression is not apologetic at all. I have nothing to apologize for, she tells herself fiercely. "I've made my pancakes this way my entire life," she tells Tanner. "Unless you want me to change the way I eat them, don't complain."

"You have not made your pancakes that way your entire life," he chokes out, hardly managing to say the words. Pain rips through him, as clear as a wave washing up on shore, and agony tears through his heart.