This is a little less depressing.
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Knives would have sat and watched her sleep longer, but his body was stridently informing him that he had been asleep long enough for him to need to take care of a few things now that he was awake. With a soft sigh, he carefully rolled out of the bed and entered the bathroom.
After the bland décor of the bedroom he was surprised to see that it was a very girly bathroom. There were matching burgundy towels, and a shower curtain that matched the towels, or vice versa. He couldn't quite tell. There were cute little tiny curtains of a light green, which was one of the colors present in the pattern on the shower curtain. These were edged with some very frilly lace in a color that wasn't really a color, and wasn't white either. There was a rug on the floor that matched the color of the rings that held up the shower curtain, and he wondered idly if women were genetically inclined to decorate in the most senseless way possible. If the room needed color, pick one. There was no need for all these almost matching things. Although, he thought as he looked around, it did end up looking rather nice. If girly.
He washed his hands, using the overly floral scented soap, then wondered how he was supposed to dry them. He knew that if he dared touch the pretty towels with his wet hands that he would never hear the end of it, but there didn't seem to be anything else around. He searched a bit, but after finding a box of things that no man should ever have to see, he gave up and wiped the remaining moisture off on his pants.
His stomach had rumbled a few times while he searched, so his next stop was the kitchen. He paused in the living room, contrasting its austerity with the decorated bathroom. The only thing in the room was the beige couch against the far wall. There were no tables, no pictures on the walls, nothing. No evidence of anyone else spending a great deal of time here, either, which heartened him. But all in all, he was puzzled. Why spend so much effort on a room in which you spend so little time, and leave this room bare?
Shaking his head, he walked into the kitchen and looked about. Aside from an old coffee cup by the sink, the room was spotless. There were no dishes drying in the rack by the sink, no pots or pans out on the counter, no crumbs on the floor, nothing. He frowned, puzzled, then smirked a bit as he saw the plant sitting in a corner. A geranium. How droll.
He looked back at the counter, mind caught by what he saw there.
Cake. A big, fresh looking chocolate cake.
He wanted that cake.
He was very glad that she had that cake.
But he knew if he touched that cake, he was a dead man.
Women didn't keep deserts around to eat. They kept them around to look pretty on special occasions. If he dared to take a slice of that, she would storm into the kitchen and start yelling. He knew that.
But the temptation was hard to resist.
With a sigh, he turned to look through the cupboards. He ended up finding a bow of stale cereal and a bowl. He had opened the refrigerator and picked up the milk, but when he shook the carton lumps sloshed about inside, and he set it back down. He rummaged in the drawers for a few minutes, finally found a spoon, and sat on the counter and poured a bowl.
It was not the best meal he had ever eaten, but it did quiet his complaining stomach. He was still slowly working on his first bowl when Kiley walked in.
She had pulled on an oversized cream sweatshirt, and had shimmied out of the torn and bloodied pants, but hadn't replaced them with anything. He was momentarily distracted by the length of leg that emerged from under the bottom of the shirt, but averted his eyes as quickly as possible and tried to not blush.
"You know," she said, eyeing the bowl, "you could have had some cake, instead. I mean, if you don't think that cake is a breakfast food, that's fine, but… I mean… you can have some, if you want."
Hastily, he put the bowl aside and reached in a cupboard behind him for a plate. "I would love some cake," he said seriously.
She lifted the glass top, grabbed a knife, and cut a generous slice, dropping it on Knives' plate when he handed it to her. She read the lost look on his face correctly and found him a fork, then smiled at the expression on his face when he took the first bite.
"It's still warm!" he said before shoving the next bite in.
"Stasis field," she explained simply. "The donuts are still fresh, too," she said, pointing at the box near the refrigerator.
He nodded, but since he was still heartily applying himself to the task of eating, said nothing. She shrugged, then walked over to where he was sitting. She paused next to him, then jumped up and sat next to him on the counter. Her sweatshirt momentarily hiked up enough for Knives to catch a flash of white panties, but she thankfully pulled it down before he choked.
He swallowed his last bite, very aware of how close she was sitting to him, and wishing that she would lean up against him. She seemed nervous to be near him, but had washed the traces of last night's tears from her face. They sat in silence for a few moments, neither quite sure what to say.
Then Knives spoke. "I guess we leave after Vash wakes up," he commented softly.
Kiley started next to him, body tensing with shock. "Leave?" She looked at him incredulously. "I'm not going anywhere."