TheBrassPotato, what exactly did you mean with the first chappie having that awkward bit in it? I reread it and all, but I didn't really understand what you meant with the reaction thing. Then again, I am very dead today.

Disclaimer: The names are not mine.

Later, she wondered why she didn't awake with a start. Perhaps it was the bed: rarely had she slept in such a comfortable one. In fact, rarely had she slept in a bed nowadays. Or maybe it was the hour: the sun was stretching over the horizon and birds had begun to sing. Or maybe she was dreaming about the nice man from last night and didn't want to be in a reality without him. She had been drifting pleasantly from sleep to wake and back. The sun trailed a golden finger across her eyelids and she cracked open one eye to totally unfamiliar surroundings. She sat up, her skull tee around her waist. Staring at her small chest, she wondered what had happened last night. Mentally, she did a retake, hugging herself. It looked clean, even her exhaustion: trains always wore out her energy; they left her with far too much time to think and remember. All that was unclear was 'Where am I?' Silently, she swung her legs out of the bed, rueful to leave it behind. Beds are hard to come by she thought as she hitched up her shirt.

Her fish-netted feet padded softly into the kitchen. Still, nothing was familiar. Peh, she thought as she helped herself to an apple, pressing the sticker to the side of the cabinet and washing it a thin stream of water. She no longer felt bad about giving herself leave to other peoples' food, but only when there was no other option than breaking in. And she had never stolen any objects. But never had she slept in a stranger's house. She grinned, wondering what tactics she had used to enter this top-floor apartment.

She was careful to lift the chair's legs clear of the floor as she pulled it back. She sat and began to eat carefully, swallowing small bits at a time. With a start, she leapt up and ran to the front door. Perhaps the resident had gotten some mail. There, on the floor, was a small bundle of letters. Stooping, she picked them up and read the address, flipping through the pile. Numair Salmalin, Numair Salmalin, Numair Salmalin. Well, that explained one thing. And she would see the nice man again; although it was a tad disappointing knowing that he probably let her in instead of her breaking in. She looked around the apartment, presuming that the closed door led to Numair's room. She sat at the chair again and finished the apple. She was just about to start on a banana when she heard a door creak open. Numair's up, she thought. Briefly, she wondered what to do, then decided to run into the bathroom and pretend to have just gotten up in need of the facilities. She leapt across the room, heading for bathroom. Numair stepped out from the location of her destination, but she realized it too late. She tried to stop, but continued to slide with alarming speed towards him.

Suddenly, she found herself on the floor, a frightened deer look on her face. Numair extended a swarthy hand into her line of vision. She gripped it with both of hers and allowed herself to be pulled up. Apparently, he had been up earlier and, to judge by his wet hair, already taken a shower.

"Morning," he nodded gruffly. Clearly, he was not a morning person. Or perhaps he didn't want her in his apartment.

"Sorry, nature calls." She gasped from shock as she swiftly glided around him and into the white bathroom, closing the door without looking back.

"Towels are in the closet . . ." he called through the door. Shaking his head, he wondered why he always felt like he said/did the wrong thing around her.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror a moment. Blushing, she realized that one side of her shirt had fallen so low that her bra and quite a bit of the skin below her bra was exposed. Pushing that thought aside, she took a cool shower, the water hitting her body in a forceful stream. She stayed in as long as she dared, then stepped out into the thick mat. She wrapped her hair in one towel and her body in another. Staring with distaste at her grimy clothes on the floor, she slipped into the room she slept in for a fresh outfit.

She was surprised at how utterly clean and revived she felt and she let the towels drop to the floor and forced a comb through stubborn curls. Once her mane was sufficiently tidy, she patted it dry and picked out some clean clothes.

She was nervous to enter to rest of the apartment. Summoning up her courage, she walked over and yanked open the door. In swung inward on smooth hinges. She stepped out into the narrow hallway, the artistic part of her longing to stop and study the paintings that adorned the walls, but she forced herself onward, knowing that if she paused she might not be able to work up the courage again.

Numair was in the kitchen, slouching over a bowl of cereal. She suspected he had been there a long time; most of the cereal had dissolved to form a mush with the milk. She stood in the doorway, puzzling what to do. He hadn't noticed her yet. She decided to make an entrance.

She twirled across the tiled floor, scooped up the bowl and said as she dumped the contents in the sink "Let me make you something better, honey,"

Numair sat up. He looked her way and smiled at her, but she was too busy whipping up a batch of . . . something. He was amazed at how fast she worked.

Minutes later, she set a muffin tin in the oven and sat at the table. "Morning,"

He rested his chin on his hand "Morning."

An awkward silence stretched by. She gulped and poured out words faster than she thought of them "Listen, thanks for letting me stay the night. I'll just finish the muffins and then go find some cheap, er, I mean, some apartment. I feel bad and all cause I don't have the money to pay you back . . . I mean, cause I haven't got any money on me, but I do have plenty in my account, of course, anyway, I don't have anything to pay you back now, but you can keep the muffins, cause they're yours and thanks so much for everything and all . . ." she ran out of words and look at the table, embarrassed.

Numair sat for a moment, dissecting her speech in his thoughtful way. She didn't have much money at all, he suspected, and needed a place to live in, if only for a bit. He panicked at the thought of her leaving. "No, no, it's fine. You can stay here a bit. Besides, there is much in the way of hotels and motels here."

There was definite relief on her face, but she struggled to hide it, not wanting to appear too desperate. "I dunno . . . I could always go to a different town . . . well, maybe I could stay, if you wanted me to so bad . . ." she appeared to ponder, while really checking out his reaction from beneath lowered lids. It was just what she wanted to see. He lost all composition in a moment of sheer panic, then covered it up with someone of much practice.

"You are free to stay or go as you please, but I wouldn't mind the company," Numair chose his words carefully, not wanting to seem too needy.

"Well . . . okay," They grinned at each other, both seeing through the other's masquerade and knowing the complete loneliness they shared.

Numair shove back his chair. "Here, let me show you my apartment. And the rest of the building. Then maybe we could go grab lunch downtown and I'd show you around."

She lay in bed that night, listening to the storm raging outside. She had to admit, Numair was loaded in so many different ways. He had a great personality, was rich but was in a school to become a professor so he didn't have to rely on other peoples' money, had a nice apartment and was just a good guy. She really did like him, but he was awfully quiet. She intended to make sure he got out and did something during her stay here.

She thought of something that made her laugh as she got out of bed and knocked on his door.

"Mm?" came the sleepy moan from inside.

"Numair?"

"Hm? What?"

"My name's Daine. Daine Sarrasri."

"Eh, okay. G'night." His voice trailed off into the deep breathing of sleep.

She padded back to her room, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.

Would you guys prefer if I responded to each comment individually?

And, it seems several people would rather have Charred Pages at the Sunshine Café back instead of this. Let's take a vote. And I swear I will use the results to update.