Her Eyes

Two

The bell to Nikolaos' cottage rang endlessly in the late morning. He groaned hearing the annoying jingle, throwing the warm covers off his body and sitting up the sun shining in his deep blue eyes, blinding him momentarily. The warm colors of orange and red slowly faded, leaving a tinge of yellow behind, faint clouds passing by from time to time.

"Gamóto," he cursed under his breath, getting out of bed and stomping his feet out of his room, down the wide hallway, and the stairs. His hair was messy, just getting out of bed, and he only wore a pair of gray sweatpants, his muscular torso bare. He didn't work out much, but he did enough to stay in shape.

(fuck)

He flung the door to his house open after fiddling with the locks, his eyes half open. "What?" he grumbled angrily, clearly not bothered by the fact that he had no shirt on.

"Nikolaos! We called you, but you didn't respond." His mother's thick accent entered his ears, and he fought back a groan. She pushed herself past him, taking off her shoes in the foyer and going to the dining table, placing her belongings and an assortment of canisters on the round table with four seats.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt? Did you just wake up? It's nearly noon, Nikolaos! This is why I wanted you to stay with us until you finished college, but you insisted on living alone. What's wrong with staying with us? We're your family," his mother nagged on.

"Mamá -"

"Son, good morning," his father interrupted, a soft smile on his face. He tended to be the mediator between the two when they would argue, though he nearly always sided with his wife.

"Babá, good morning," Nikolaos returned, allowing his father to pass by. His father took his shoes off, patting his son's shoulder and chuckling lightly as he went to the dining table. Nikolaos closed his eyes tiredly and swallowed a heavy breath before closing the door and going to his parents. It would take a lot of patience to deal with them as he just woke up.

They tended to come to his house randomly. Sometimes, they called him as they were headed to his house as a warning, and other times, they would show up unannounced, forcing him to throw away any plans he had for the day ahead. Yet, no matter how many times they barged into his home and nagged on and on about him visiting them more, he would always allow them into his home. They were his parents; his only parents and they weren't required to check on him as often as they did.

"I was busy last night and slept late. I didn't know it was almost noon," Nikolaos explained, "It's too hot to sleep with a shirt on." His Greek accent became thicker when he was around his parents, a natural occasion. When he was with his old friends or classmates, he sounded as British as they were. It was hard to balance sometimes.

"Poú pas?" He hears his father ask as he ascends the stairs to his room. "Shirt!" he yelled from the upper hallway, grabbing a random white tee he found in his closet and throwing it on before rushing down the stairs to his parents. They situated themselves at his dining table, freely using the kitchen connected to it as their own.

(where are you going?)

Nikolaos soon smelled the fragrant diced tomatoes being fried with eggs and his stomach rumbled. He helps his father set the plates as his mother finishes up the food, making sure to sneak in a small bite from the frying pan without getting his hand swatted.

"Thank you Mamá," Nikolaos says when a large serving of scrambled egg with diced tomatoes is set on his plate. "What is the other stuff you brought?" he asked, stuffing his empty stomach with food. "It's food for the month. I worried you would miss my cooking, so I made some last night." His mother cared deeply for Nikolaos, no matter how many times she scolded him for not listening to her or getting angry and arguing. He was still her son at the end of the day, and she wanted to see that he grew up well until her time came.