The Midnight Train

12:

Lydia stirred awake slowly, a dull ache pounding behind her temples, making her wince before she even opened her eyes. She blinked against the soft light streaming through the curtains, her mind hazy, disoriented. Her hand instinctively went to her forehead, trying to rub away the sharp, throbbing pain that settled there. She groaned, the sound low and frustrated.

"Nolan…" she croaked, her voice weak and raw from sleep.

Within seconds, Nolan was at her side, his concerned expression softening as he leaned over her. His hand brushed against her hair, pushing it back from her face. He always moved with this quiet confidence, a calm that contrasted her frazzled energy. She looked up at him with tired eyes as he placed two painkillers in her palm and handed her a glass of water.

“Headache?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. He knew her too well.

Lydia nodded and popped the pills into her mouth, chasing them down with a few gulps of water. As she leaned back into the pillows, the coolness of the glass still in her hand, Nolan flashed her a teasing smile.

“You always seem to have some sort of problem,” he quipped, a playful glint in his eye. “Can’t catch a break, huh?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, her tone dry and biting as she set the glass down on the nightstand. “And if you’re not up for helping me with these constant ‘problems,’ maybe you should let me go handle them on my own.”

Nolan laughed, a low sound that filled the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning in closer. “No way, you’re stuck with me. And besides, can’t you take a joke?”

Lydia arched a brow, her mouth twitching into a sarcastic smile. "Oh, right. My bad," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "I must’ve missed the part where I was supposed to laugh. Maybe you could point out which part was the punchline?”

Nolan’s grin widened, and he gave a loud, exaggerated laugh, slapping his knee like an old comedian. “There you go. Hilarious, aren’t you?”

“Funny enough for you to keep around,” she shot back, her tone sharp, but with a flicker of amusement. Her eyes drifted over him then, and she noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead, his slightly mussed hair, and the dark athletic clothes clinging to his toned body. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Wait, are you headed out already? It’s barely morning."

Nolan leaned back slightly, running a hand through his damp hair. "Nah, just got back. I was out for a run."

She blinked, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Oh really? Didn’t even notice you were gone.”

Nolan shook his head, smirking as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “You missed me. I know you did—even in your sleep.”

Lydia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, sure. That’s a lie.”

Nolan chuckled again, shrugging in mock defeat. “Believe what you want. So, what do you want for breakfast?” He stood up, stretching his arms behind his head, his muscles rippling under his shirt, the remnants of his morning run still showing in the tightness of his frame.

Lydia watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Wait—can you even cook?”

His face lit up with an easy grin. “Of course I can. It’s one of my survival instincts.”

Lydia’s expression shifted, her lips pressing together as a sudden sadness clouded her features. She dropped her gaze to the blanket, fiddling with a loose thread. “I don’t know if I even remember how to cook,” she muttered softly, her voice almost a whisper.

Nolan’s laughter burst out before he could catch himself, and Lydia’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing dangerously at him. “Are you laughing at me?” she snapped, her tone sharp and defensive. “You think my amnesia’s funny?”

Nolan quickly raised his hands in surrender, the smile fading from his face as he tried to reassure her. “No, no, that’s not what I meant at all! It’s just…” he hesitated, trying to find the right words, “you never knew how to cook.”

Lydia blinked, her confusion deepening. “What do you mean I never knew how to cook? How did I manage?”

Nolan chuckled softly, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe. “You survived on takeout, mostly. And whatever free lunches you could scrounge up at work. You were always too busy—barely had time to breathe, let alone learn how to cook a meal.”

Lydia frowned, staring at him as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t fit. “Why was I like that? Why was I so caught up in work that I didn’t even make time for myself?”

Nolan’s gaze softened, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as she wrestled with the weight of her lost memories. He shrugged gently, his voice low. “That’s something only you can answer. But from what I saw… you were always running, trying to keep up with life. You never slowed down long enough to really live it.”

Her throat tightened, and she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, the weight of his words settling heavy on her chest. She didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to think that her life had been so hollow, so wrapped up in the daily grind that she’d forgotten how to just be. But there was something in his voice, something in the way he spoke, that made her feel like he wasn’t lying.

“I guess I have a lot to recover,” she murmured, “and discover.”

Nolan gave her a small nod, his eyes meeting hers with an understanding that didn’t need words. After a moment, he pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the kitchenette, rifling through the cabinets and fridge, gathering what little food they had left.

Lydia watched him from the bed, her gaze distant but drawn in by the simple comfort of his movements. He worked quietly, with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. She watched as he cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them together with a few chopped vegetables, his hands moving deftly. The sizzle of butter in the pan filled the small cabin, and the smell of eggs and toast soon followed.

A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming cups of hot chocolate, a plate of golden French toast, and scrambled eggs mixed with colorful veggies. He set the plates down on the small table by the window, glancing over at her with a smile.

“See?” he said, gesturing to the food. “Survival instincts.”

Lydia gave him a half-smile, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re full of surprises.”

Nolan leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before handing her a cup of hot chocolate. “You’ll figure it all out,” he said softly. “One step at a time.”

It wasn’t romantic—it was instinctive. A gesture of care, of reassurance, like a protective brother or a close friend. It was his way of telling her, without words, that she wasn’t alone in all of this. That no matter how much she forgot or struggled to piece together, he would be there to help her navigate through it.

Lydia blinked, her headache momentarily forgotten as she looked up at him in surprise. But Nolan didn’t linger; he straightened up quickly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features as he stepped back.

“Come on,” he said, his tone light once again, as if the moment hadn’t happened. “I made us breakfast. We’ve got eggs, bread, and whatever was left in the fridge. That’ll do.”

Lydia didn’t respond immediately, still processing the unexpected tenderness in his gesture. But then she nodded, her voice quiet as she said, “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got, survivalist.”