The next morning, despite having work to do before leaving home, was a slow one. For a few minutes after waking up, I was lying in my bed staring at the ceiling above. I could hear someone else breathing calmly, grunting once in a while as if having a bad dream, but I didn't really care. I was glad to be alive for once. It hadn't been a dream. I could feel the splinters that were stuck in my palms. I could feel a soft stinging in my eyes, the one you get after you've been crying. Thankfully, my eyes weren't as puffy as I feared they would be. I couldn't possibly leave for work looking like I had just attended a funeral. People would have started spreading rumors about me. Now, I can deal with lies being told about me but these things tended to get dirty pretty quickly, especially at work where your every move was being monitored, and the last thing I wanted to happen was my family or possibly even my entire home village being involved. I closed my eyes and took a moment to listen to the ticking of the clock on my nightstand, the muffled chirping of the birds outside and my own heartbeat. I granted myself the pleasure of stretching my arms. While letting out a gleeful sigh I intertwined my fingers and pushed them towards the ceiling as hard as I could. I then slid my legs off the bed and dug my feet into a pair of worn out gray slippers. I felt a wave of lightheadedness sweep over me as I stood up.

"Right. It's about time I get some of my energy back."

I took a look around the room, trying to locate from where the breathing was coming. It took a moment because my eyes were still adjusting to the light of the morning sun flooding the bedroom, but eventually I found him. There he was, curled up into a ball laying underneath my bed. One of the decorative blankets that usually laid on my bed atop my actual blanket had apparently slipped off during the night and now been transformed into a little nest. Another blanket was shielding the space under the bed from the sun, but the few rays of light that got through made it look especially warm and cozy. I began feeling sleepy again, but quickly shook it off.

As a child, I used to build caves made out of chairs and thick wool blankets. Whatever color the blanket had, it filtered the light in such a beautiful way that I could have stayed there for hours. I decided to not wake him for now. He had likely been just as riled up and exhausted as me the day before.

I made my way into the kitchen and fired up the stove, filled up a kettle with water and set it atop it. While picking out the type of tea I started to wonder if I would even have enough time to get ready for work. I glanced towards the clock hanging above the kitchen table. Eight thirty. I was lucky my shift that day didn't begin as early as usual or I would've probably lost my job.

"Great. I guess I can forget watering the flowers then. Or even having a proper breakfast."

"Breakfast."

I flinched and dropped the tea bag that I had been holding. He had shifted back into a human and stood in the frame of the door to the kitchen, watching me intently as an awkward silence took over.

"Um...y-yeah. I'm making breakfast."

Silence. His gaze was piercing me. He didn't budge an inch from his spot and just kept on staring. At least now I knew that he wasn't completely mute. I decided to give him a little hint.

"Do you maybe want to eat some bread?"

No reaction.

"Of course there wouldn't be, he doesn't even know what language this is..." I muttered to myself.

I pulled open a cupboard and took out a loaf of bread to show to him what I meant. As soon as he saw the bread in my hands his light brown eyes started gleaming with what I assumed to be joy. His stern expression changed ever so slightly but somehow I could tell how he was feeling. His voice was a bit shaky and his way of talking insecure but nevertheless he started shouting the word "Bread!" over and over again. I quickly put the loaf of bread on a large plate and set it down on the table.

"Here you go."

Once more silence fell over him. I sighed deeply and set the plate down a level deeper, on the floor.

"How about this?"

He still seemed to be confused, although I didn't know what there was to be confused about now that I had prepared the meal for him just like I had the morning before. He seemed to be thinking intensely about something. Ultimately, he decided to walk – or rather stumble – towards me and plopped down to his knees in front of the plate. He reluctantly tore a piece off the bread and bit into it.

I watched him eat for a moment before turning back towards the stove and checking on the kettle. I took it off the stove-top a bit earlier than I usually did. I didn't want to risk scaring my new housemate with the high-pitched whistling sound, I could barely stand it myself. I picked out a new bag of tea and put it in my favorite mug before pouring the hot water over it. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that he was watching me attentively again. I set down the kettle and turned my gaze towards him. He had stopped eating about halfway through the loaf and was staring at me as if expecting me to pour him a cup as well. I took a closer look at the bread. Maybe it had become moldy since it had been rather humid the past few days, but no, there weren't any rotten pieces or discolorations. Maybe he simply wasn't as hungry as expected. I dipped a spoon into a jar of honey and let it sink in for a moment before slowly pulling it out again, admiring the thick golden coat covering it and moving it over into my mug. I watched the honey dissolve while mixing it with the faint green water. There are a lot of things and habits I have abandoned over time, but this particular ritual has stuck with me until now. Suddenly, I could hear something scratching over the kitchen floor. I looked down to see the boy nudging his plate towards my chair with his nose. He fixed his gaze on me for a brief moment, nudged the plate again, and let out a grunting noise. I tried to read his expression to tell what he was thinking. I was stuck between "I don't like it." and "You can have this.".

"Can...I?"

I pointed a finger to the plate and then to my chest. He tilted his head to the side and looked at me, wondering why I didn't accept his gift or why I didn't serve him something else. I cautiously stretched out one arm towards the plate and picked up the bread that was left. He didn't snap at me, or react in any way at all - except for more staring of course - , so I concluded that I might as well enjoy the food while it lasted.

"Thank you. I'm really hungry, too."

I tried giving him at least a semi-honest smile. He pulled back his lips to show me his own teeth in response. I couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt to smile back. At this point I was even more curious about his story, where he came from and what his name was. If he even had a name. Most importantly why he had decided to stay in my garden and now in my house. The cold realist inside me told me it was probably just because of food, but I felt my optimistic side gain more and more power as time went on. It almost felt like a scene out of a cheap romance novel. It felt like the most unrealistic, the most fantastic of setting, but I never would have thought how real some fairy tales could be.