Pretty Boy | R. Grayson

Hallucination [Part 2]

She sat up gently stretching herself. Her hair were all tangled in tiny ringlets and she was in no mood to peel open her eyes. The previous day's spring cleaning had quite visibly worn her out.

However she had slept quite well unlike other nights. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from the hard work that had made her so drowsy.

"Good morning."

Shocked to hear another voice aside from her, she straightened abruptly, her eyes popping open in an instant, "who the hell is there?"

"It's me, remember, Richard Grayson," he emerged from the kitchen holding a tray in his hands which he set down on the table, "I made breakfast."

"Still dreaming..." She sighed wearily, pinching herself but found out that she was quite awake.

Her antics at waking herself up even though she was not sleeping made it difficult for him to hold in his laughter. "Hey, we've already gone through that. You're not dreaming and I'm not a hallucination."

"So... You've been here since last night?"

"Precisely."

She sighed wearily, "God damn us, everyone."

"Ah come on, it's not good to be so miserable in the morning. Why don't we have breakfast first and then I'll answer all your questions?"

"I don't have any questions," she grumbled, "I just want you out of here."

He feigned a very pained expression on his face, "and here I thought we were getting along well by now. Seriously though, you just hurt my feelings."

Her eyes widened in alarm seeing his innocent blue eyes, "Grayson... You're the limit."

"That I am," he nodded, "but unfortunately the breakfast is getting cold. So please keep the arguing for later and come eat."

She disappeared in her room and returned a short while later, her messy curls were now pulled up in a bun. "You really didn't have to do this, you know," she spoke as she sat down on her seat, eyeing the breakfast critically.

"Well I thought you wouldn't probably make breakfast for a hallucination so might as well do that myself. Frankly speaking, I'm starving."

He dished out some of the omelette on the slice of bread he had placed earlier on his plate, "and I didn't know where you kept the toaster so these aren't toasted."

Her mood seemed to have gotten better at seeing his attempts at actually being helpful to her. "I don't have a toaster," she replied, "and you're lucky there was some bread in the fridge. I don't normally have bread either."

"I'm sorry what?" His mouth was full but he spoke quite surprised at her statement, "then what do you eat for breakfast?"

A smile threatened to break on her face but she masked it, taking her share of omelette and bread, "I eat what we call a paratha with tea. It's similar to pancakes just not sweet."

"Oh..."

"If you want your bread toasted then there's an alternate way of doing it," she noticed him struggling to eat it raw since he wasn't accustomed to the taste, "give it here."

"It's fine really."

"You made breakfast for me so I guess I owe you," she took out a pan and placed it on the stove, placing the slices on it. 

He watched curiously as the slices turned red and she turned them over to the other side. In a few minutes the toasts were ready.

"Thanks," he took the plate from her and started eating it, "it worked though. Tastes much better than before. Oh and that reminds me, what do you think of the omelette?"