chapter 2: burnt toast
I disclaim
o
I'm a terrible cook. I can't boil water without messing up somehow. It's like bad karma for one of the horrible things I've done over my 21 years of life.
Doesn't matter though. Sesshou-maru usually cooks for me. Except on days like today.
Today, the bastard got sick.
I came home from my last class, only to find him sleeping on the couch, tissues and vomit-bowl nearby. His computer is still on. Though I'm tempted to read it, I don't.
There's still some sort of coldness between us.
Those words were only said, how long, two weeks ago? It's like every step I take forward in life, I'm pushed back down the whole damn staircase.
I still wonder if he said it to humour me. I wish I had seen his face. Or been able to kiss him, or something. He was behind a door. How's that for romance?
But who am I to judge... I'm not even sure if I meant it.
I move over to the slumbering man, and find myself smiling through ruby-painted lips. He looks so different when he's in bed. Sleeping, I mean.
Not that I've ever been in bed with him. And it's not that I don't want to.
But the way he is...
I shrug, and go to work wiping his face a little. He's so much less intimidating that way. I can't imagine him being a child. Would he still have unaturally long hair? I bet he was teased if he did.
Slowly his lashes flicker up, and he stares at me blankly. After blinking a few times, he has the strength to adjust himself so the blood in his arm can flow properly, as opposed to being squished under his head.
"You hab to cook," he grumbles, with the usual stuffed-up speech impediment.
"If I cook, you're going to die," I tell him curtly.
"And iv I cook, we'll bofe be sick, so go," he insists, "Make toast or sobthig, thed do your hobework."
"Yes, father."
Dropping my bag on an old chair, I proceed to look through the cupboards. Pretty near empty.
"Maybe you should get a real job, so we could by some food!" I call, though he's not that far away (it's just a small apartment).
"I said toast," he mutters again, rolling over. My, he's even more of a jerk when he's under the weather.
I put on the radio, as I pour us some juice. I work a shift at the library tonight, which isn't too bad. They favour students, so I get enough pay to keep up my share of the rent. And I get most of my homework done there. Sesshou-maru got me the job, so I should probably thank him sometime. But whatever.
"Kagura..." he groans, breaking me from my string of thoughts, "What's that sbell...?"
"What... oh, that, uh..." I look over to the smoking toaster, "Nothing."
"You're lyig."
"No shit, Sherlock." I unplug the appliance, and then proceed to watch our toast, which is now crispy brown, pop out. Somehow shutting off the electricity makes it actually do the job. How is beyond me.
I dump it on a plate, and head back over to him. He's half-asleep, and seems to be trying to remember something, or keep from screaming at me.
"Here," I say, a little softer in an effort to be kind, "Your toast."
"It's burdt."
"Aren't you Captain Obvious today."
He looks up at me strangely. "How did you dow I like it burdt?"
I resist the urge to laugh. "You like burnt toast? You must be kidding, that's disgusting! I wouldn't eat that stuff if I was... well, I probably would, but that's not the point."
He sits up and reaches for the meal. I sit on the arm of the couch (he hates me for that) and look around our place. A living room/kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom that's mine. That's all we have, and it's poorly decorated. Sesshou-maru willingly sleeps on the pull-out couch. He's sweet, when he's not being a jerk.
He once said something about choosing to live this way. He was from a well-off family, I think, but it was torn apart. And here he is with me. Eating burnt toast on a garage sale sofa.
"How's your story going?" I venture, as he wipes some crumbs from his mouth.
"Fide."
"Anything interesting happen?"
He shrugs, reaching for his glass of juice. With pulp. I really don't like pulp, but this shit's cheaper.
Going on a whim, I slide from my place down closer to him. Pressing my body to his, I lean on his shoulder.
"What are you doig?"
"Snuggling," I reply, "And you're ruining it."
He begins to speak again, but I place a finger to his lips. He raises an eyebrow, provoked.
"I know I'll get sick or whatever the Hell you were going to say," I continue, "But I don't give a damn."
Sighing, he wraps an arm around me and closes his eyes again. I pray he doesn't vomit on me. I already had a shower this morning.
I refuse to close my eyes, knowing I have to leave in about ten minutes. Just ten minutes spent here with him.
That's all I really wanted.
It passes so quickly it's amazing. The clock rings 6:00, and I struggle from his grasp. Subconciously he still holds onto me, murmuring again.
"Don't..."
"Ssshhh."
I stand, moving slowly for the door. Grabbing my coat and bag, I take one last look at him. I haven't kissed him in weeks, and I want to more than ever. Most girls would consider this relationship dysfunctional. I think it's better than parties and sex. Maybe not sex, sometimes, but parties definitely. Parties are fun until you get wasted or stoned. Then it either all goes away, or is painfully unreal.
I can't imagine hm at a party anyways.
"Good-bye," I'm able to whisper as I close the door as quietly as it'll go. I don't think he stirs, which is good. I want him to cook for me tommorow.
end of chapter 2