blood orange sky (bwwm horror)

warmth of kind

As they made their way back to Lucas's cabin, the air grew colder, and Calliope wrapped her arms tighter around herself, her breath coming in small clouds. The forest felt darker now, even with the faint light of dusk starting to fade behind them. The trees loomed overhead, and for a moment, she couldn't shake the feeling of isolation, of how far she was from anything familiar. But Lucas walked steadily beside her, as if this solitude was as natural to him as breathing.

When they reached the cabin, the warmth of the fire greeted her instantly, and Calliope relaxed slightly, grateful for the heat. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do next as Lucas stoked the fire, the flames casting a warm glow over the rough wooden walls.

"You hungry?" Lucas asked, glancing over at her.

Calliope blinked, surprised by the question. She hadn't thought about food, her mind too preoccupied with her stranded car and the odd turn of events. But now that he mentioned it, her stomach gave a small growl, and she realized she hadn't eaten since earlier in the day.

"Yeah, I guess I am," she admitted, offering a small smile. "I've got some snacks in my bag, but... nothing much."

Lucas stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans again. "There's some food here. I've got a few things, but not much of a cook myself." His eyes flicked toward the kitchen, then back to her. "If you're up for it, you could make us something. Not much, but it'd be better than what I'd come up with."

Calliope hesitated, feeling a strange tension in the request. It was a simple enough offer—cook dinner in exchange for a place to stay—but something in the way he said it gave her pause. His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of expectation, as if he assumed she'd agree without question. Still, she pushed the feeling aside. He had offered her shelter, after all, and it was the least she could do to be polite.

"Sure, I can whip something up," she said, keeping her tone light, trying not to make a big deal of it. "What do you have?"

Lucas motioned to a small cupboard near the back of the cabin. "Some canned stuff, maybe a little dried meat. It's not much, but you can make it work."

Calliope nodded and set to work, moving around the small kitchen, gathering what little supplies there were. It was a sparse setup—some old pots, mismatched utensils, and a few cans of beans and vegetables. She found some dried venison and decided to make a simple stew, something warm to take the edge off the cold night.

As she cooked, Lucas watched her, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his gaze steady and unwavering. It made her feel a bit self-conscious, but she tried to focus on the task at hand. She stirred the pot, listening to the crackle of the fire and the soft bubbling of the stew, all the while aware of his eyes on her.

"You're good at this," he said after a while, his voice quiet but clear. "Most women I know... they don't bother anymore. Don't care about stuff like cooking or keeping things together."

Calliope glanced at him, unsure of how to respond. "I guess I just like to cook," she said simply, turning back to the pot.

But Lucas didn't stop there. "It's rare now, you know. Women doing what they're supposed to. Seems like everyone's too busy trying to prove something. But you—you're different."

The words sent a small shiver down Calliope's spine. She could feel the weight behind them, the expectation. It wasn't just about her cooking a meal. To Lucas, this was something more—a fulfillment of some unspoken role, a duty he seemed to believe she owed.

She forced a smile, though the unease was creeping back in. "It's just dinner," she said lightly, trying to deflect the strange tension building in the room.