Last night, the floor was nice to sleep at but too hard for my back to endure for too long. I entered the room that he said had to be mine, but it was too beautiful I felt like only staring at it all day. I didn’t want to ruin the perfectly made bed or break anything. After all, they weren’t officially mine. I was just borrowing them for a night. So, instead I settled on the couch in the living room, curling on my side, surprisingly too tired I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I woke up under the warmth of a blanket strewn all over me. I didn’t remember tucking myself under them, but maybe I had just forgotten. I was pretty sure it wasn’t him who placed it over me since I didn’t really hear anyone coming in. I peeked into his room too, but it was as if nobody had touched that room, so he must have not gotten home. He said he would, but maybe his business outside took longer than expected.

I was disappointed not to see his face in the morning, but it wasn’t like I could get used to it. I reminded myself that I was just letting this all happen today and tomorrow everything would have to be just like before.

Him out of the picture.

But my eyes betrayed me as my thoughts had gone astray. I looked around, only appreciating now some small details about the room. Like the endless rows of books that lined up the shelves on one of the walls—he must love reading just like me. I smiled at the thought, reading through title per title and smiling when I found one that I had already read. There were also the signs of tiny green plants and flowers in the room, making it look a little closer to nature. How the air seemed fresh and raw up here because of that. There was also his modern kitchen with a monochrome theme. It was kind of bigger than his dining area, so I was guessing he wasn’t just skilled in cooking. He must have loved to cook, which brought me to an idea.

As thanks for taking me in for a night and not asking what had gone wrong, I put my hair up in a high ponytail and checked inside his fridge to see what I could make him for breakfast. It was sure filled with a lot of things, but rarely were there any real food. He had more alcohol than ingredients. Believe me.

Gladly, there were bacons, butter and there was a pancake mix in the cupboard. I had grown to love this simple breakfast my mom cooked me every morning that I had memorized how her creation normally tasted, so even though I wasn’t a cook who created fancy meals—like my soul mate seemed to be, at least, I could make proper food.

So, from six to seven-thirty in the morning, I was at the kitchen, busily creating pancakes, frying bacons, looking for maple syrup at the cupboards, preparing the table for breakfast, setting utensils on their right place just like how my home economics teacher taught me how to, and lastly, made two cups of coffee—for me and for him. I didn’t really know how he drank his coffee, but I made black coffee with two teaspoons of sugar. On the side—just in case he wasn’t the caffeine type of guy—I also placed another cup of steaming hot chocolate with marshmallows on top floating in the swirling cocoa.

Everything was set perfectly in place. It was just the owner of the house I was waiting for in both anticipation and nervousness. I wanted to see him so badly, but at the same time I had this strange desire not to see him so soon, as well.

As if on cue, however, the door clicked open, two pairs of feet distantly pounding on the hardwood floor. He was probably at the foyer at this time and I was still in a haze of panic of meeting him even though it wasn’t the first, that I busied myself, fixing utensils on the table again even if they had not been touched yet or anything, waiting for any signs of him entering the dining area.

“Oh,” I could tell he was surprised to see me still there. I was just as surprised at myself.

It was then I had only thought I should have just snuck out while he wasn’t in the house, but then I was still here, even cooked him breakfast and anticipated his return without a second thought.

My eyes, as if having a mind of their own, moved to gaze at him, taking in his appearance as much as I could at that little chance I got before I looked down at the plate on the table, blushing. He was wearing some grey sweatpants and a large grey hoodie over his head, but he still looked good in his sweaty and shower-less self. I bit my lip, feeling totally stupid for ogling at him when I shouldn’t.

The worst thing was that I couldn’t help but admit how good he looked in anything. Perhaps he could wear a sack over his head and he’d still look so fine.

“You cooked breakfast.” His voice was filled with amazement and I didn’t know whether I should be relieved or uneasy once he tasted what I made. I didn’t know if pancakes were his thing or if I did well to meet his standards, so I couldn’t help but hold in my breath as he sat down across the table, looking at me and the pancake tower in front of him distractedly while running his fingers through his sweaty hair.

I cleared my throat, trying to avoid his gaze. “Yeah.”

Shyly sitting down, I let the dull silence takeover not really knowing what to talk about with him. It was so pleasant and so weird being around him, especially when I could practically feel him drilling holes on the side of my face.

What was he thinking?

“This tastes good,” his comment pulled me out of my own thoughts.

I inhaled sharply—too sharply—at the way he was smiling at me while chewing food inside his mouth and I knew he didn’t miss this, finding it amusing that he was teasing me with his crinkled eyes. I scrunched up my nose, shaking my head, trying to get myself together. He shouldn’t have that much effect on me, especially we had not really bonded; except for what transpired last night and this morning.

That was the closest we ever got.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, trying to look nonchalant as much as possible despite my heart doing cartwheels in my chest.

His smile widened and then he sliced a bigger piece, s