I Want You to Stay

The Cold Behind Locked Doors

'For now, we can stay here for a while

'Cause you know, I just wanna see you smile.'

- 'One Call Away', by Charlie Puth

••

December

It starts one night in bed after dinner.

My heads rests on his chest, fingers tapping in tangent with his heartbeat. The book is back in his lap and we're reading quietly together; he agreed to start back at the beginning, saying it wasn't any trouble at all and joked that I was lucky he liked it.

"What if we stayed at your house one night?" He breaks the silence softly, making me freeze. "Just to shake it up, you know?"

I don't answer for a long time.

I don't want to sleep at home. This is my sanctuary, my place to escape from the cold, unforgiving and taunting room, a cruel reminder of the nasty thoughts and feelings that came during those hellish weeks. It's warm here and it's comforting, it's got this orange glow with the lights on while mine has a fake, synthetic feeling. A feeling resembling a hospital room. Always dark, even with lights on.

"W-why?" I ask. I feel him shrug.

"Just wanna get the full effect, you know?" He says. I nod. "We can make dinner there, you can choose. How's that sound?" I nod again.

"I guess." I burry my face in his chest. "Tomorrow we'll stay at my house." I don't see it, but he smiles, and he reaches and turns off the light.

"Cool. I'll go shopping tomorrow after you say what you want." I nod again, words failing me once again.

As we drift off, I tell myself that he'll be there.

He'll be there.

~~

"Who's ready to cook!?" I hear from the front door, making me smile and put down the book I'm reading. He comes up behind the couch, a bag of goods in each hand. He holds them up, a giant smile on his face. "You ready!?" He laughs. I snort, swinging my legs over the lounge and standing up. I shrug.

"I guess so. Where do we start?" I say, pulling my sleeves over my hands. He nods to the kitchen.

"Go wash up, then we can start." He says, starting into the kitchen. "I even brought you an apron!" He exclaims excitedly, making me laugh. I wash up and he hands me a new looking apron, while tying his own brownish, worn one.

He doesn't wear any other apron, although he obviously can order another. He told me it was the one from the bakery that he had had since he was little, and he had brought it to his new house to bake for himself, right before the Quarter Quell. It's the only thing left from the bakery or his old life that I know of.

"You still are sticking with your original dish?" He says with a smile, unpacking the ingredients and setting them on the counter. I nod, smiling shyly.

"Sorry if it's a little basic and boring," I say. He gives me a look.

"Never. It's your dinner, you choose. And I love lamb stew." I smile.

"You got plums, right?" I say. He grins, pulling out a paper bag.

"You betcha. Do you know how to start it?" He says. I shrug.

"I mean, I've made stew before. Just not really this kind." I say, picking at the apron.

"That's alright. How about you start by cutting vegetables and everything while I make the broth part? We'll go twice as fast." He says, breaking open the plastic wrapping over a new can of some sort of spice. I nod, finding my task simple enough.