Running || A Garrance Fanfic

Chapter Twenty

Garroth's POV

With no windows in the room, I wake up almost believing it's still night. The digital clock on my nightstand tells me otherwise, the glowing red numbers showing me it's nine-fifteen. I guess that explains why I'm not tired.

I attempt to sit up before remembering Laurance, still asleep, beside me. He has part of my shirt clutched in his left hand, as if he was afraid I'd disappear during the night. His normally messy chestnut brown hair is even more disheveled against the pillow. His snores are soft, expression completely calm and serene, almost childlike. It's...weirdly adorable. In a totally platonic way, that is.

Shaking that thought from my mind, I gently move Laurance's hand off of me and get out of the bed. He shifts slightly, but remains asleep. I breathe a sigh of relief and leave the room to make breakfast.

Sunlight beams through the open windows near the living space, making me wince at the sudden change in atmosphere. Both our suitcases are still left near the front door, but I don't bother to move them yet. Don't wanna risk waking Laurance up because Irene knows he can surely use the rest. Poor guy can't seem to go a week without having that dang nightmare.

I place a pan on the stove and look to see what little food we have in the fridge. Not a lot since we just moved in yesterday, but I spot a few eggs so I take them and crack them over the pan.

We really need to go shopping soon.

A few minutes pass before there's rummaging behind the bedroom door. Laurance emerges in his black a-shirt and green sweats, his hair looking like he's been zapped with 1,000 volts of electricity. I try to hide the laugh that tries to escape, but he catches it and goes cross-eyed to look at a piece of hair dangling near the bridge of his nose.

"You need a haircut," I comment, scooping a pile of scrambled eggs onto a plate. He scoffs at me and sits on a barstool near the counter.

"Good morning to you, too," he jokes. "It's not my fault my hair likes to rebel against me."

I place the plate in front of him: "You still look like you haven't gotten it cut in two years."

I put my plate next to his and sit on the other barstool. He scratches the back of his neck.

"Maybe 'cuz I haven't."

I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Look, when you're off traveling the world and scrounging for money, appearance isn't usually the first thing you worry about."

I roll my eyes and we eat our breakfast in comfortable silence. He seems severely preoccupied with what I can only assume is that mysterious nightmare he constantly has. He's staring very intensely at the kitchen stove, lost in his own thoughts. I doubt I'll ever be able to comprehend just what goes on in there.

"Laurance?"

"Hm?" His stare remains, taking another bite.

"I know you don't wanna talk about it, but will you at least give me something about this nightmare you keep having?"

His gaze moves to his plate of eggs as he pushes them around with his fork. Lips pressed into a thin line, sky blue eyes downcast, it's obvious he's really contemplating how he's going to answer. He lets out a soft sigh.

"It's...a memory..." he starts, eyes dimming with every word, "...of someone I'd do anything to forget."

"Do I know them?"

He shakes his head: "This happened in the BG time period."

"Huh?"

He glances at me, that smirk back on his lips.