"Reid, what're you livin' on here?"
Derek is stood in my kitchen, cupboards open, frowning at the empty space.
I stick my head in the doorway, holding a bag of clothes.
"What do you mean?" I ask vaguely, trying to evade the question.
"I mean, what do you eat." he repeats slowly, as if talking to an idiot.
My cheeks flush.
"Haven't had time to go grocery shopping." I say, and he shakes his head.
"If that's it, then how come these shelves right here are covered in dust?"
Before I can lie again, he opens another cupboard, finding a family sized box of cereal.
He slams the door closed, opening the fridge. There's a bottle of milk in there, as well as a ton of energy drinks.
I bite my lip.
I can feel myself panicking as the dip in his forehead deepens, and I pull my bag closer to me. My gun is holstered on the side of my hipbone, and it jabs painfully into the bone.
I take a deep breath.
"You know how hectic our work schedule is. I'm hardly ever here, 96% of the time, I eat with you guys. Any food here tends to go to waste."
Derek stares at me for a few long seconds, but I just pull the bag closer to me, increasing the pain.
He eventually nods, accepting my answer.
"C'mon kid. We gotta go." he says, brushing past me.
I take one last sweeping glance over the kitchen, before turning off the light, slamming the door, and following Derek out of my apartment.