Even if the stars don't shine

Domestic

  She had beaten him to the shower that morning. Little did she know he had been awake all night. He waited for her door to open, for her footsteps to walk past his room and for her to come out again.

  He waited for another few moments then took the towel he found in the cupboard and quickly went to the bathroom. The hot water felt too real, the steam that filled the room felt too familiar. And yet, it was all far away, in his mind it was all lightyears away from his thoughts. He felt like he was choking.

  When he left the shower he found that someone had written something on the mirror. Morning. He nearly smiled. She was a sweet kid. The choking feeling of being here before returned and he had to take a measured breath before getting dressed and leaving.

  She was in the kitchen when he got out. "Morning!" she called to him. She seemed enthusiastic.

  He heard the sound of sizzling. "Morning..." he replied and went to his room to crudely dry his hair, it was still damp as he emerged again to see her at the kitchen island, he tied it up as she lay down two plates.

  She called him over as she picked up the frying pan, one of two, and hovered it over the plates. "How's you sleep?"

  He shrugged. "Well," he lied.

  She encouraged him to sit down and forked out bacon from the pan, putting it down to pick up the other and dish out eggs.

  He raised his eyebrows a little as she smiled.

  "Sorry, I don't usually get to make breakfast for-" she stopped as she realised how that might sound then waved herself off. "Anyway, breakfast is served..." she pushed his toward him and went to the fridge. "Something to drink? I'm having juice."

  He nodded carefully, wondering if he was asking too much. Accommodation was already going beyond the mile. "Thank you..." he looked down as she put a glass in front of him and handed him a knife and fork.

  She almost dropped them as she realised something so blaringly obvious. Silver. His arm was silver. It seemed so dull on the news but in the light it didn't glisten but it looked glazed. She took her eyes away immediately as he noticed her.

  "Sorry..." he almost tried to pull his grey sleeve down but knew he couldn't cover it. Nothing would ever make it go away.

  "No- I'm-"

  He shook his head, cutting her off.

  She took her plate and a fork, not knowing how to recover from this. "Do you want to do anything today?"

  He didn't look up now, just put his left hand on his leg underneath the counter and picked up the fork guiltily. "I think I'm supposed to be in the shadows for a while- I'm still wanted." 

  "Oh- we don't have to really leave the apartment," she shrugged and waited for him to look at her so she could meet his eyes. He didn't. "There's lots of stuff we can do..." she convinced herself. She leaned against the counter and surveyed him eating, hardly doing so herself until he was finished.

                                         **

  She told him she'd be back soon. A smile, and she was gone. He waited anxiously in the living room. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, he still wasn't comfortable around here and everything he did felt wrong. 

  He swayed around there for a while then went to kitchen and gazed at the dishes in the sink. Before he knew what he was doing, he was looking for soap and turning the tap on. When he finished he heard the door open and close.

  He walked out to see her holding three plastic bags, he took them from her and set them down on the counter.

  She was breathless from climbing stairs. "Thanks," she breathed out and looked to the sink, "you washed the dishes?" she put a tired hand on his upper arm. "You plum," she smiled and started digging in the bags for something.

  He stepped back and she began unpacking.

  "I mean this is my money for the month, but I'm sure we'll get by..." she mostly whispered the last part and took a short breath. She looked up at him as she placed down the box on the table. "We're making cupcakes," she stated with a grin.

  He watched her clear the counter and search for her tools, reaching for the plastic bowls on the high shelves until he had to help her get them down.

  "Thanks, I used to have a little chair but I think a neighbour borrowed it and never gave it back... must have been Mrs. Gibson, she's always doing that," she rambled as he moved out her way so she could get a smaller bowl and her utensils.

  He sat down as she read the back of the box. He watched her eyes move quickly across the words, without faltering or overstepping, flawless. 

  "Looks simple enough," she muttered and took out the packet of powder provided.

  She gave him the ingredients individually then called him for them, adding the dry ingredients to the big bowl then going to the fridge for eggs. "Want to?" she asked with a wry smile, sliding over the smaller bowl.

  He shrugged one shoulder and took it, in his flesh hand. He tapped it against the bowl and it cracked perfectly, he weighted it and let the contents drop.

  "Impressive, impressive," she passed him another.

  A perfect crack around the circumference. He almost smirked at her when she used paper towels to take the shells to throw them away. "I have a few tricks..."

  "You used to bake?" she turned back around and heated the butter in a different bowl, measuring out the sugar before adding it and taking the wooden spoon to cream it.

  "My mother did... she taught me a few things when I was still young," he shrugged.

  "Were you close to her?" she asked and feeling the pause, looked up.

  "I was..."

  She took her cue to leave it alone when something entered her mind. "Shit, I forgot the oven, take this," she handed him the bowl and spoon, forcing him to use his left hand inadvertently, "add the eggs while you mix," she instructed and fiddled with the oven.

  He couldn't help but watch her. It was just so domestic, something so foreign-feeling now. He did as he was instructed.

  She took out milk and told him to add his bowl to the dry one, adding in milk as he beat against the flour, mixing it together. It wasn't any difficulty with his strength. She couldn't help but notice the silver.

  "How's it looking?" he asked after a long silence, looking up at her.

  She snapped out of her trance. "Good, very good," she searched for her tray she inherited from her grandmother, one amongst few things, and the paper cups from the plastic bag. She set them out neatly. "Just spoon it out," she coached.

  The first one spilled over which seemed to catch his breath.

  She scooped it up with one finger and tasted it. "Perfection," she commented as he continued. She leaned on her elbows as he did and he could tell he could feel her eyes on him and not the batter.

  They waited for the light on the oven to go off then she added it to the bottom tray.

  She put up her hand. "Good job."

  He high-fived her with a minute smile.

  "Okay, while we wait..." she thought, set the timer on her phone and dug through the bags for four little glass containers, "I'm doing your nails," she grinned.