same song and dance.

change of pace.

"think i would let you leave wit my hoodie on.."

em scoffed and shook his head as he carelessly pushed around a frying pan of bacon over his stove.

"yeah," i shot back from my seat at the kitchen table, "you're getting me breakfast because you want your hoodie back."

"shut up," he snapped, tossing a few pieces onto a plate along with a sizeable stack of pancakes. yes, pancakes. i still couldn't believe that he went through the comical effort of making them. it was actually kind of cute.

but i wasn't about to tell him that.

"thanks, em," i mumbled when he slid the plate over to me and plopped a glass of orange juice next to it.

"that's not my name," he retorted as he sat down with his own food, implying that he wanted to be called something else.

"yeah, and mine's not ruby," i replied between small munches of bacon.

"what is it, then?" he prompted.

i huffed after i swallowed some of my juice. "alright, marshall, are you really dying to know?"

"mhm," he grumbled as he chewed an obscenely large bite of his pancakes.

"jude."

he just looked at me.

"what?"

"nothin'," his gaze averted downward, and suddenly he appeared very interested in the table. "it's pretty."

i rolled my eyes. "what is this?"

i'd never seen someone so confused. "what's...what?"

"this!" i exclaimed, gesturing to him and the plates in front of us. "last night i was nothing but a fucktoy, but now my name's pretty and you made me goddamn breakfast."

he shrugged. "i can be nice sometimes."

"whatever," i declared once i'd finished, "i need a shower."

as i begrudgingly got up and walked away, he uttered, "uh, bathroom's-"

"i'll find it," i cut him off, traipsing into the unfamiliar halls of his massive property.

i'd better not get myself lost to prove a point.