She really wasn't coming back yet.
Suwabara checked the clock again. Only ten minutes had passed. It felt like an eternity.
His hands began to shake.
Well that's just fine. He didn't need her right now. She interrupted his work. Continually disrupted his work. Sure, he may have become a bit... Obsessed is too strong a word. Preoccupied? Yes, that should do- A bit preoccupied with beating his friend and rival, but what was it to her? He never complained when she cut herself sculpting candy- he did like the scars, but that didn't mean he liked seeing her hurt in any capacity.
This fit she's throwing is ridiculous! Preposterous! Unacceptable!
... But it did look like she packed quite a lot of clothes.
He started, then scoffed at himself over the errant thought. From what he'd seen, women tended to pack far more than that for a single night away from home.
... But Monica was never one of those women. She didn't even own that many pieces of clothing, most of her worldly possessions fit into a single large suitcase.
"Tch!" He shook his head and went back to cleaning the kitchen, heading toward the sink and the dirty utensils first.
He grabbed the pan he had been using and immediately drew back his hand. It was too hot to touch still, even after it had had cold water run on it and been left to sit for so long.
Monica held it with her bare hands straight out of the oven.
He growled and ran the cold water on it again for a minute before setting out to do the rest of the dishes.
His mind kept wandering back to her while he scrubbed, and it was making him temperamental. He very nearly crushed a measuring cup in his hand.
As soon as he was done, he decided he might as well continue working now that he didn't have any chance of getting interrupted. Maybe he'd even get some actual progress made now that she was gone! Joke's on her, being gone for a couple of hours might have done him more good than harm, after all. Another one of her genius plans had backfired!
Somehow that didn't feel as satisfying as he thought it should have.
He grabbed one of the old cookbooks from his collection and set to work anyway.
In the first batch he forgot one of the ingredients and the finished product turned out understandably disgusting.
The second batch didn't ferment correctly and he had to throw it out.
The third burned.
The fourth caught on fire.
It was a good thing he kept a fire extinguisher in the kitchen.
Why was he so distracted without her here? He'd worked for his entire life previous to knowing her just fine, why, now, had he become completely incapable of pursuing his life's passion!? It didn't make any sense!
There was no reason for him to miss her presence so. It didn't matter that he couldn't hear her watching whatever TV show she had on at the time in the living room. The fact that she wasn't in the next room reading something remarkably feminine like a romance novel or a fashion magazine meant nothing to him. And he'd never even noticed how she would sing quietly in languages he didn't understand as she cleaned.
It certainly didn't bother him that the acrid fire and extinguisher smells had all but done away with her scent in this part of the house.
It did nag at him, however, that he was apparently going completely insane.
His hands curled into angry fists and he slammed them down on the counter.
He should be glad for the time all to himself! All those things should have been annoying distractions to him! But somehow she had become the only thing that gave him the ability to concentrate.
He would go outside and sit under the waterfall for a while. Surely, that would cure whatever issues with concentration he had...
... If it hadn't become dark outside while he had been working. He gave an annoyed sigh. His hours really were all wrong.
And suddenly he was more tired than he'd been in nearly a month.
He'd come down from the adrenaline rush from the fight with Monica a while ago and had been running on stubborn fumes ever since.
Sluggishly, he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth before somehow managing to crawl into his futon. He'd been awake for about thirty-six hours and couldn't even work up the strength to shower.
But even with his advanced exhaustion, sleep escaped him.
He was worried about her. Had she found a place to stay for the night? She could have at least called and told him where she was.
She didn't have any reason to do that, you nitwit, she left. Indefinitely.
He'd been fighting that fact for hours and it had finally sunk in. The realization made his heart contract in a painful way.
Dammit, he loved her, he really did. Even if he was always too ashamed or muddled to say it aloud. He figured she could tell that on her own... She was the one who was experienced in these kinds of things, wasn't she?
What was she so angry with him over anyway!? A couple all-nighters, a few overworked days never hurt anyone.
Except, he finally understood with a horrified recoil, that that was exactly what killed her father.
He buried his face in his pillow and gave a loud groan. He was a monster- it's no wonder she was so anxious, so convinced he was going to die, he would be, too.
He crawled out of his futon and made his way over to her room. He crawled into her bed, wrapped himself in her blanket and put his head on her pillow, enveloping himself in her scent. The soft, sugary aroma caused his bruised heart to expand a little.
His eyelids finally began to droop.
Tomorrow, he would find out where she went, he would go there, and he would swallow his pride and apologize. No matter where it was. He loved her, and he would go to the ends of the earth for her sake...
That was his last thought before he drifted off to dreamless sleep.
God dammit Suwa you effed up