He remembers there was a time. A time when his cheeks were warm after waking from a nap, a time where his mother's cool hand would cup his cheek and run her fingers through his messy, clammy hair. She would whisper with a smile, "Happy Birthday, honey." He remembers upon her lap a white box. Inside that very box would be various flavors that made his mouth curve upwards and his mother laugh…but he cannot remember his mother's laugh. It seems it happened too long ago. There was a kind his mother loved, the caramel. It was shaped in a square of milk chocolate with a dark drizzle. He adored feeding her it, he adored sleeping happily with her.
He realizes he does not sleep as he did then, where he felt safe—where he felt carefree—where he felt protected. He wonders when he last slept like that, waking up satisfied and…happy. He flusters, he had recently become twenty-two, and still has a derogatory life. He wants it to end, discontinue, and disappear from his days, although he would never admit that, not even to his own self.
He craves satisfaction. He aches for his mother this particular month. His mother satisfies him…or at least satisfied. She gave him what he hungered for: she gave him her warmth and attention. She gave him her love. Who should be giving that to him now? He didn't seem sure who could be…or who would be.
His brows knit together in a perplexed, but soon irritated, fashion. Soon irritated because his ears could overhear this special person stepping in his direction. He means special in a rather disparaging manner. She's almost alien, he thinks. After all, who would be so outlandish to keep pestering him? She appears to concern herself with his life a little too much.
He does acknowledge the fact that she has been behaving rather strangely as of late. She talks less…she moves less…and there are moments where she just stands there still. What if she stays like this? He clenches his jaw, he is not very fond of this idea. Although he would never tell her, he enjoys listening to her blather on.
Finally he breaks the silence, "You haven't been yakking much like you usually do." She pauses, her eyes widening in surprise. "You… took notice?"
"I'm not stupid," he snaps. "So why are you acting weirder than normal? Not that I care."
Silence falls again across the room. She stands there in front of his sink with soapy hands, the only sound to be heard are drops from the faucet consistently falling atop a plate.
Her soft lips weakly curve upward, "Do I… Silver, do I bother you?"
He cocks his head to the side in disbelief. This grown woman, the same age as him, is just now thinking of this possibility? He sighs.
"Of course."
And for once, he swears she looked as if her skin was glass and it began to shatter. He is incredulous. She wipes her hands on her sides. He stands still. She walks past him, her head hanging down.
By the time he turns to say, "Wait," she has already left. And the house feels cold. She'll be back, he thinks.
She does not come back the next day, or the day after. He sits on his couch, and his home chills his bones even though the fireplace crackles with heat. Why did he have goose-bumps all over his body? He stands up, puts on his jacket, and leaves the house.
He wanders around the city, his feet landing in slush and snow. He notices the cold outside feels no different from the inside of his home. His house. He didn't seem so sure what his home is. Mother. Mother was home. He shoves his hands into his pockets, they are so cold they have lost all moisture and begun to bleed. His red nose runs. And he stops.
The light from this shop's window shines onto his face, he sees it all. The different chocolates and candies, he sees small and large white boxes most likely filled with those chocolates. And his eyes are interrupted by her figure. She peers down into the glass counters full of various sweets. Her gentle finger points all over the counter, and the clerk places them into a box. She gives the cashier a charming smile out of gratitude. And he realizes he has had enough.
He storms into the store, striding towards her. Her face freezes in shock, and his hand reaches for hers. "S-Silver?!" He pulls her out, marching down the streets and slamming his front door open. She rips her hand out of his, his grip hurt. "What is going on?!"
"Stay," he says quietly. "Just stay."
"I thought I bothered you." She retorts, somewhat angry and evidently hurt.
"You do, but not the way you think."
Her delicate eyebrows furrow in confusion, and she stares at him wondering what could possibly be stirring up in his mind. She puts her hand into her bag and lifts out the white box from the store. "I bought these for you. I remembered it was your birthday a little bit ago, and… Lately, you started acting as if something was missing, or something was wrong, I felt as though my presence was just becoming annoying… But I still think about you, I still love you no matter how much I become upset, ya' know…"
Her face flushes, and he scratches his neck. "Maybe," he begins. "We could eat them together?"
She smiles at him.
"And I also want to try something," he continues.
"What is it?" she asks.
"Come with me."
He softly takes her hand, leading her to the couch. She sits down, and he leaves for a moment returning with a blanket. She swallows. "Silver?"
He places himself close to her, bringing her against his body. "I wanted to feel warm."
She laughs gently. "The fireplace is over there, but I don't mind this. Do you want to open the chocolates?"
He nods, his face resting in the nook between her jaw and shoulder.
"I hope I can find a caramel one," she says.
His hand reaches into the box, and he pulls out a candy in the shape of a square with a dark drizzle. "This one's caramel, I'm positive," he tells her, motioning for her to open her mouth so he can feed it to her. She does open her mouth, her cheeks tinting pink like the dawn sky.
He tugs her near and closes his eyes. He feels warm. He feels home.