Insomnia

Sunshine // Five

She futzes with the hem of her sweater, refusing to answer him. Somehow, she couldn't find it in herself to lie, but remaining silent seemed to be an option.

"Humph." He hums, deciding not to pry further.

She watched as he turned and began rummaging around in the kitchen. He mutters something about the severe lack of bacon and pulls the egg carton out of the fridge. He explores the kitchen, finding apparently everything he needs without her guidance.

"Do you even have a whisk?" He suddenly asks. She was too fixated on the intruder in her kitchen to recognize that he was actually asking her a question.

He turns, expecting a response.

"Whisk?" He asks again.

"What are you doing?" Evie counters.

"What's it look like?" He opens another drawer, finding the item of his search.

Evie holds the bridge of her nose, "so you come to my house in the middle of the night, bleeding and in desperate need of an emergency room, but skip the emergency room visit and make me stitch you up. Then you sleep with me, try to fuck me while I'm sleeping, and make breakfast."

He shrugs. "You took it out of context. And I wasn't going to fuck you."

"It's still strange even in context!" She exclaims. "You still tried to screw me while I was sleeping!"

He turns. "Do you want me to go?" He asks.

She could still remember the feeling of his heartbeat under her head, and his scent still permeated her nose. Evie grew silent. He was a heady drug she wasn't willing to relinquish just yet today. She longed for that same intimacy now. "No." She whispered.

"I'm going to go change." She murmurs, getting up.

She returned, fully clothed, and shoved the flannel shirt she obtained from him into his side.

"Clothe yourself." She mutters, sitting back down on the couch.

He doesn't.

"I wasn't trying to screw you. I was trying to do, well, something else, and you woke up. I was trying to thank you, truthfully." He rubs the back of his head. "Also, you shoved your ass into me all night. Morning wood does not improve a man's self-restraint."

She did recall that.

She listened to the silence. The hiss of cooking bacon, the plastic spatula hitting the metal pan, the indescribable yet nostalgic sound of whisked eggs being poured into a heated skillet.

The muscles in his back bowed and bent, flexed and relaxed. It was impossible to look away. His tattoos stretched and warped, coming alive on his skin.

"I feel you staring." He commented.

"Am not," she responded immediately.

He turned, serving up food onto two plates. "Liar." He countered, softening his voice.

She really had no interest in giving in, but it was several months since she'd had a real meal cooked by someone outside herself. As a college student, it was near impossible to refuse.

Evie got up and stole away a plate, returning to her place on the couch. Cade decided not to join her, and simply ate at the counter.

She tried not to notice just how much it tasted like her mother's scrambled eggs. Evie could never make it quite like her mom did. And she tried. She tried for a long time after the fire.

Cade took his shirt off the table and fetched his gun from the other room, shoving it in the back of his jeans.

"Are you leaving?" She asked as entered the room once more, taking his keys off the coffee table right in front of her.