Something's missing. Kristoff thinks, as he takes a sip of his morning coffee.
It's not the groceries. He picked those up yesterday and got everything on the list. Even the little things Bulda had messaged him about that she just knew he would forget to write down. (She had been right to assume so cause he had completely spaced on the paper towels and laundry detergent)
It's not the dog food that Sven is happily chowing down upon, though he had nearly forgotten it on his way home the other day.
And it's not Sven, obviously, as the ridiculous goof eats his breakfast like he has never laid eyes on dog food before.
It's not his TV show. That got recorded last night so that's something to look forward to after work.
The bills are paid, the rent dealt with.
No.
Something's off.
Something's different.
There is something missing in his life, like the last piece to the puzzle, and Kristoff can't, for the life of him, figure out what it is.
Everything's been pretty normal.
He's gone to work.
He's had his favorite lunch at his favorite diner.
He's had dinner with his family every Sunday like he always does.
He's walked Sven through the parks, jogged through it several times too, breathing the familiar air.
The only difference now is Bulda makes it a point to call him every day to make sure he is ok. A little thing she did after the accident ("Your Mama can't help but worry dear. I just have to know you're ok").
Still, even with the normality of things, he just can't help but feel that something is not right.
He just doesn't feel…whole.
Kristoff sighs as he looks down at his coffee, losing himself in the steam that comes out of the floral cup.
He had been surprised when he pulled out the ridiculously, over flowered cup from his cabinet for the first time months ago. He had been even more surprised to find a few more stashed away in the back. He used them, every once in a while, when his usually large cups were sitting in the sink.
Kristoff isn't sure what he was even thinking when he had bought the small, girly things.
…Did he buy the cups?
Furrowing his brow, he thinks hard and doesn't remember ever buying them. He doesn't even remember seeing them in any store.
Maybe it was apart of the memories he was missing? The doctor had said since he had experienced so much head trauma, he wouldn't remember some things that had happened over the years. There had been some small things he had forgotten (the layout of his apartment for one, Sven's favorite dog food, what exactly he liked on his pizza). Maybe this was one of those memories?
Still, looking down and slowly spinning the cup in his hand (it looks so damn small and he is sure he could easily crush it if he held it tight enough), he can't help but feel that he didn't buy them.
Maybe Bulda gave them to him?
Taking a sip of the coffee, mentally trying not to hold the cup too tight, he makes a mental note to ask his mother about them next weekend when he comes to dinner.
Kristoff stares out the window for a moment, seeing the sun making a rare appearance on this cold January day, then looks back down at the cup.
He can't figure out if it is because of the cup or something else, but there is something stirring in him, in his head; moving and shifting, like the gears on a machine.
It makes him think, wonder, What is missing?