Hello! Thank you guys so much for the reviews! I really appreciate it!

Also, my cousin made a cover for the story (I know you're not reading this but thanks^^)

Hope you enjoy!

Jellal awoke with stiff limbs. He felt less run over than the day before, but his muscles ached from having slept in the same position for the entire night. He felt the wound down his shoulder sting, finding more and more areas of his body to be throbbing with pain as he dragged himself out of bed.

He stared at himself in the mirror, unhappily. He looked like a corpse – eyes sunken and with dark rings below. He was tired. He had not slept well but above all, he was hungry. He avoided his reflection for the rest of the day, shuffling down the hall when the smell of food lured him into the kitchen.

The heaviness of his shoulders unconsciously lifted at the sight in front of him. She was wearing an apron – and gods, did it suit her. He could not help but get hung up on that thought. Everything about this suited her. She stood in front of the stove, stirring in a pot where the savoury smell of a well-seasoned meal reached his nose. The kitchen was a mess. He scanned it quickly, not noticing anything to be broken. Yet.

"What's all this?" He asked, inwardly cursing with annoyance at his croaking morning voice.

"Jellal?" Erza turned with surprise, her hair swinging around her. Around that angel face of hers, revealing those beautiful, deep eyes and her from the heat slightly flushed cheeks. He felt himself blush a little, merely looking at her, feeling a churning urge to hug her; he had not had the chance to do that since she had not cuddled him due to his injuries and he had fallen asleep rather quickly. He swallowed, trying to regain his cool.

"Soup for breakfast?" He asked. He realised too late how it must have sounded, though he did not mean anything by it. He was just merry with having gotten to see her in an apron.

"You shouldn't be up," she launched right into scolding, tilting her chin up a little. He had never noticed more than now how she was shorter than him, her strength in battle not even making it a question to be asked. "Get back to bed," she ordered, and he felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. He held back the comment of how he did not have a cold but was injured, not wanting to insult her soup any further. It looked delicious. And his stomach grumbled loudly, yearning for food.

"Go on," Erza started shoving him across the floor, through the door. He hissed, unable to supress it when she touched his back. Pulling away immediately, Erza stared at him with wide eyes, stuttering an excuse and how she had not known him to be injured there.

"It's nothing serious," he soothed before she could get any more ideas. Her order was still standing, though, and she put her hands on her hips instead, giving a strict look.

"I'm fine,"

"Off to bed," she almost growled and he raised his hands in defence, his amusement not taking her fancy. "Don't make me carry you again." She threatened and he blinked in puzzlement.

"Again?" He panicked inwardly. He did not remember that – nothing really from after having had cocktails.

"You needed it," she nodded matter-of-factly.

"I did?" He pondered. "I really shouldn't let you order me drinks anymore,"

"So you said,"

"I have?"

"Bed, Jellal." She commanded – it was almost starting to become a catchphrase. He gave up, turning on the heel. He wanted to add how he would only go if she joined him, not daring in the end. He sauntered into the bedroom, his exhaustion telling him to flop down but he lowered himself carefully instead. He would never hear the end of it from Erza if his wounds reopened due to him falling into bed.

His arm hurt a lot, even without having to be moved, the rest of his injuries luckily being less painful. He sighed to himself. Listening to the stirring noises from the kitchen – making sure they continued – he reached over to the nightstand, fetching his notepad and pen.

He harked again, then proudly ticked off the last point on the list. He ripped the sheet off, starting to copy the house-related things onto the next page. He did not want her to see the previous list. He added more points, involving the wall he had to fix, the floors and walls he had to decide on and buy and the sorting of everything they had bought. He wondered whether he should put her moving in on it.

Jellal sat up straight when he heard her steps coming down the hall. He felt like a child, caught playing instead of sleeping. Calming himself, he put the notepad aside, then felt his courage fleeing, shoving it back into the drawer. The door handle lowered when he noticed the previous list to still be lying on the bed. He hectically crumpled it up, stuffing it beneath the mattress in his rush.

Erza lifted her elbow off the handle, having pushed the door open with her back. She was carrying a tray and still wearing her apron. He was glad he had never seen her in one before – he could not take his eyes off her. Also, he was glad he now got to see her in it, a positive side of his injuries. She gave him a frown and he realised he must have grinned with obviously fake innocence.

"Here," she said, setting the tray down on the nightstand. The smell of food made his stomach pipe up again. She smiled at that. He watched her pour some of the wonderfully looking meal into a bowl, handing it to him. He could not start to express how happy it all made him.

"Thank you," Jellal spooned the largest amount possible into his mouth, welcoming the flavour to warmly spread on his tongue. He froze. Then almost choked. It was awful.

"It's my specialty," Erza said, closing her eyes and nodding proudly to herself. The few of his surviving taste buds screamed at him to use the chance and spit everything back out. How in the world had she acquired this much salt? If it was salt… he prayed it was salt.

Jellal forced himself to swallow but it came back up. Trying again, he shivered as the lumpy liquid scratched down his throat, threatening to shoot right back would he not be focused on getting it over with somehow.

"I made it on Tenrou Island after the first round of the S-Class trial," she explained, completely blind to his horror. He still shuddered, his face losing its colour.

"What did they say?" He asked. He croaked. He could not help it. Had there been casualties during those trials? He tried to remember, being sure that if it was the case, it had been thanks to her 'specialty'. His stomach rumbled, and he mentally kicked himself for thinking how his gastric acid was no match for the soup.

"Unfortunately, we didn't get a chance to try; I had to look for our missing members,"

"Unfortunately…" he repeated.

"Well," Erza rose from the bed, giving a sigh, "I have to go and consult with Master about something," she said vaguely but he was too busy with pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as not to touch anything that had remained around his teeth. "I'll be back before dinner so I can make you something,"

"That's really not necessary!" He blurted out, noticing too late to be sounding desperate. She tilted her head questioningly, still completely oblivious. "It's my turn; you've done enough for today," he supplied, swallowing. It nearly made him gag.

"No," Erza shook her head, "you're the one who should rest; I'll be glad to work my magic again," she smiled complacently. He fought hard not to pull a face. Had she used magic? Was he really going to die from soup? His guts definitely voted in favour of the latter.

"I just… want to feel useful, too," he said, more quietly. Her gaze softened and he hated himself for cheering at his victory. Then she prepared for protests, so he continued, taking great pains over a collected tone of voice. "Let's at least order something so you won't have to work so much," and won't cook again.

Sighing to herself, she finally nodded and he exhaled strongly through his nose in relief.

"That really stresses you," she said, and he felt another hefty pang of guilt, humming positive anyway. Erza leant down, gently pushing him into the pillow. He let her, not having the strength to fight back anyway – it felt as if the soup was eating away at his insides already. She placed a kiss on his forehead and he melted into it, forgetting his dreads for a second.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," she said, giving a strict look that told him he should better stay where he was. The front door closed and he deflated with a sigh. How was he supposed to be honest with her when she managed to cook something so horrible it was as deadly as her.

He waited a minute longer, then got up. He could not bring himself to throw it away. And lie about having eaten it all – she might make new soup then. Guiltily, Jellal hid the pot behind a wall of food and ingredients in the fridge, hoping dearly for it to be forgotten before long. He was really hungry now.

Jellal groaned upon removing his bandages. He still refused to throw a glance into the mirror, looking down himself instead, inspecting the gashes across his abdomen. They would not scar too much, he thought, brushing lightly over the crusts.

He hissed upon reaching out for the shower head. Blood ran down his arm, the wound having popped like a balloon. Grimacing, he ignored the pain, deciding to use his other hand. The water burnt even while being lukewarm, as if stabbing his back where more crusts speckled across his skin.

Erza was late and he hoped it was because she was getting them food. He had munched down a pound of rice, then thrown it up alongside the nightmare of a soup that had just waited to tauntingly reappear. His day had been spent by reading status updates on the mission by Meredy and brushing his teeth – and mouth – for who knew how long.

"Jellal," he winced when the door opened, turning his head to stare into wide eyes over his shoulder. Erza's face lit up with blush and she spun around to face the wall. He blinked, finally breathing again. What had she expected to encounter when hearing the shower run?!

"You shouldn't – your wounds," she nagged, immediately back in her scolding mood. Why was she not leaving anyway?

"It's fine, I just-"

"Put on a towel." She said. He hesitated, then turned the water off, following her orders. He wrapped a towel around his hips, securing it tightly. She waited a moment longer, then turned. She was still flustered, though irritation poked through, making him shrink slightly. "Sit." He did as he was told, remaining in the bathtub, seating himself on the rim, back turned to her.

Erza gave a sharp sigh. The chair's legs scraped across the floor, stopping behind him. He stiffened when she started to gently pat over the wounds on his back with a damp towel. Silence engulfed them, seemingly thicker than the with steam misty air. She washed his back without a word leaving her lips, always prudent not to hurt him.

"It's really not that bad," he attempted in a quiet voice but she did not react. Since she was this careful, he could not tell from her movements how she was feeling. He assumed her to be angry, seeing her tightly frowning brows and lips pressed together in front of his inner eye. "My arm hurts though," he admitted, adding how the other wounds were just slightly stinging by now.

Her head hit his back, gently. Jellal held his breath, waiting. He could feel her warm exhale, hair tickling his skin as it fell onto his sides. Arms snaked around him, tenderly enclosing him without inflicting any pain of his injuries. Blood trailed down them, dripping.

"Thank you…" Erza whispered, "for telling me." He breathed again, a small smile plastering itself on his lips. He was glad to be this honest with her. And he was glad that she let him know that she was, too.

He would not be caught dead telling her about the soup, though.

She slept by herself. On her side, Erza curled around the blanket, clutching it to herself, her flank rising and falling steadily. He watched her. Longingly.

He was exhausted. He had not slept well the last night and even after the noodles she had brought, he was still starving. And yet, he could not sleep. He felt pain, however it was stronger on the inside than it bothered physically.

He wanted to hug her. He really, really wanted to hug her. He had not in days. He was on deprivation and he hated what it did to him. That hint of a hug of her had fired him up so much, he was willing to not only risk reopening his wound but rip the entire damn arm off if only he could wrap at least one limb around her. And hold her. For all of that miserably missing talent in cooking, he loved her to bits for trying so hard. For being stern with him, just because it would help him heal.

She would never allow it. Not for the first time, Jellal thought that this was his punishment – being allowed in only to sleep apart. With her perfectly within reach but untouchable.

He watched her for hours until exhaustion clung to his bones and he fell asleep. He awoke with the same muscle ache as the morning before. And alone.