Gracie Abrams is eking out a solitary existence, fighting day-in, day-out against the drain of working customer service and nursing two newborn kittens in her off time. Out on her own ever since her sister moved in with her boyfriend, the burden of...
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When at last I unearthed myself from my small bathroom, steam clogging up the room in uncomfortable waves, Sam and Kirishima sat at my battered, blue plastic table chowing down on the most beautiful, golden-brown batch of hash browns I'd ever seen.
With little more than a nod and a small hello, I turned to my personal cook, sidling as close to him as I dared. "Holy shit, those look amazing."
Kakashi chuffed a laugh, turning to me with a spatula in hand, only for the spatula to freeze and his expression to still. His gaze narrowed in on my forehead. With a succinct clatter of the spatula on the table, he pulled me back toward the humidity of the bathroom.
"We'll be right back. Then we can talk," he said to the kids, authoritatively, but they hardly seemed to notice.
Kirishima, in typical teenage boy fashion, had inhaled his hashbrowns, toast, and eggs much like a vacuum. Or a leaf-sucking backpack. Three seconds passed from the time I walked into the kitchen and his plate was full, to him kneeling on the linoleum and becoming a chew toy for two fully-awake kittens.
Ah, the fire of youth.
Kakashi pulled me into the bathroom, wedging me up against the round lip of the sink. He pulled open the mirror's door from behind my head, accidentally pushing me close enough to his sweatshirt that I could smell laundry soap and hashbrowns. And that woodsy, masculine scent I'd begun to associate with Kakashi.
The gauze box appeared in his hands. Using one agile foot to close the toilet lid, he plopped the box down on the white surface. With the practiced ease of one more familiar with wounds than an emergency room doctor, Kakashi dabbed a Q-tip across the opening of a Neosporin tube. With quick, efficient strokes, my forehead was buttered up. It tingled as we both waited for it to set.
"Is it that bad?" I asked, feeling foolish. I wasn't a child. I knew how to bandage my wounds.
Kakashi paused long enough to give me something I could only call a stare straight out of The Office, before plastering the thick pad to my forehead. Ripping three quick strips of thin medical tape with his teeth, the gauze was stuck in place.
"I have to go to work today," I protested, if weakly. "Is this really necessary? Can't I just put on a regular band-aid?"
"No," Kakashi said flatly, and that was that.
I bit my lip, gesturing to the hallway and the kitchen that lay beyond. "There's not a lot of time left before I have to go. We should go out there and make sure they're both okay."
Kakashi assessed me, his hands resting just on the edges of my uncovered elbows. I'd put one of my store T-shirts on today. Far less ugly than the navy polos. Honestly, I didn't know a single person who could make those uniforms look anything other than hideous.
