Bleary-eyed, Maktov woke with a start. Immediately, he realized he wasn't in his home. Though the black-out curtains used did a fair job, there was more than a little sunlight sneaking in through the cracks. His room didn't allow a single iota through. Groggy memories trod back into his consciousness. Along with the pain. It wasn't as bad as yesterday, or even last night, but as he began moving, it flared.
As his recollection pieced itself together, he realized Thalia was gone from the bed. That was when his nose caught a whiff of breakfast. His stomach lurched, a monster of hunger compared to his less than active appetite of last night. Heaving himself out of the bed, Maktov paused as he caught sight of his reflection.
Dirt and dried blood stained his clothes. Tears and rips peppered the fabric. He wasn't even sure what happened to his glasses in the commotion. Even his shadows bore some hint of raggedness. A different sort of tiredness tore at his eyes. One where he just wanted to curl up and sleep, in an effort to forget the world.
The pull of his hunger won out, though. Cloaking himself in a blanket, Maktov followed the scent of food to the kitchen.
Standing with her back to the entryway, Thalia stood at the stove, directing the sizzle of cooking pancakes. "You really don't have to go in, if you're not feeling up to it."
"Mom, I told you I'm fine." A little ways away, Taryn leaned against a counter and shoveled syrup-saturated pancakes into their mouth. Sleep deprived bags hung under their eyes. Maktov slightly recognized the clothes, though he couldn't be sure if they were the same from last night or just from their first meeting. All the same, they appeared a bit rumpled.
The instant Maktov appeared, though, Taryn's eyes flickered to his presence. "Hey, shouldn't you be resting?"
From her place at the stove, Thalia half-turned. As if in answer to both their curious gazes, Maktov's stomach rumbled. He clutched the blanket tighter around him, trying to ignore Thalia and Taryn's smiles of amusement. "I smelled food."
"Yeah, you're lucky," laughed Taryn, smearing syrup around their now empty plate with their fork. "Mom's making pancakes. That's usually a weekend only treat."
Before Maktov could answer, or even dwell on what that meant, Thalia piped up. "I told you, I wasn't sure what else he liked!"
"Uh-huuuh." Taryn's grin only widened, an eyebrow cocked. Maktov could almost feel the memories emanating from the teenager; every time they had to suffer through a new vegetable, or less-than-child-approved meal or denied a preferential fast food option.
Thalia wrinkled her nose at Taryn. "If you insist on going to school, go brush your teeth and get your things together."
Taryn cackled as they left the room, padding toward the bathroom.
Thalia huffed, turning back to flip a few more pancakes. In a few minutes, she plated the pancakes and nodded toward the dining area in the other room. Maktov followed behind her, the blanket still draped over his shoulders and hiding his less-than-stellar state from sight.
"Thanks, but you didn't have to do anything special for me," Maktov said, as he settled in front of a plate. His stomach gurgled, impatient to dig into the food. As he buttered and cut his pancakes into pieces, he continued, "I'd have been fine with a bowl of cereal."
"It's fine. I got up early, anyway." Thalia focused intently on cutting her pancakes. Like yesterday, her slices were rather imprecise compared to Maktov's, but she didn't notice. She was doing her damnedest to not think of earlier, of the particularly heated dream or how she woke up, curled up against him. Her own sense of mortification began to warm her cheeks, all the same.
Maktov wouldn't have noticed had she melted into the floor. Uncertainty crept along his shoulders, making them hunch under the blanket. He'd asked so much of Thalia and Taryn last night and, still, she found it necessary to make him food. Only because she didn't know what else he liked. Though, at least, it made his stomach stop growling.
Silence stretched between Thalia and Maktov, only punctured by the sounds of silverware on plates. They ate quietly, neither meeting the other's eye.
The doorbell suddenly rang, prompting Taryn to tromp to the front door - ready for the day - and successfully shatter the quiet. There was shuffling at the door, before Cherie entered the dining area, a bag in hand and papers clutched in his hand.
"Good morning, Cherie." Thalia smiled, getting to her feet to approach the young man.
For a brief moment, Cherie's eyes had wandered to Maktov, concern evident. Maktov couldn't be sure if the boy was worried for him or of him, though. Cherie flashed Thalia a smile as his attention shifted, displaying pointy canines, and he proffered the gifts. "Aunt Mag sent over a salve, some written instructions, and some doctor's notes."
"Doctor's notes?" Thalia's eyebrows furrowed as she took the items. She skirted around the table, bringing them over to Maktov so he wouldn't have to get up. Without a word, she began pulling items from the bag, placing them within his reach.
"She thought he might need them for time-off needs," Cherie answered. He glanced to Taryn, as if in confirmation of their next course of action, "We should get heading out, though, right?"
After a nod from Taryn and good-bye 'love yous' exchanged between child and mother, the two teenagers raced out the door. When their tromping feet had died away, Thalia turned toward Maktov.
Done with his food, Maktov had immediately begun investigating the items, almost to the point of ignoring the others. A round container of some homebrewed ointment that smelled vaguely of eucalyptus and nether root. A paper with swirly scrawl, titled in red 'Read Before Applying.' And, of course, a couple medical excuse notes with a legit-looking letterhead and an illegible doctor's signature.
The words on the papers wobbled before his eyes. He held the note out further, brought it closer, squinted. Nothing seemed to correct the swimming letters.
"Maktov, you okay there?" Thalia's voice interrupted his attempts to make sense of the words.
Frustration prompted an automatic, "Yes, I'm fine."
She sat down at the table beside him, head tilted to the side. He squirmed under her scrutiny until, finally, she asked, "Where are your glasses?"
Oh. That made sense. Maktov blinked, tracing through his memories, back to when he last had his spectacles. With a heavy sigh, he put the papers down and muttered, "I must have lost them during the attack. I didn't even realize."
"Do you have extras?"
"I think I have an old pair, back at my place," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The seedlings of a headache - the kind he got when trying to read something in bright light without his glasses - took root behind his eyes. At the same time, his stomach clenched at the thought of heading home.
"Oh, that's good," Thalia said as she got to her feet, retrieving her empty plate. As she headed for the kitchen, she added over her shoulder, "You can pick up some clothes, too, if you're staying longer."
A breath lodged in Maktov's lungs. Longer? He hadn't quite thought beyond the day. His heart felt as if it skidded across pavement, thrumming fast for one reason, only to pause and resume a speedy throb for another. Brief thoughts of last night tumbled through his head. Her kiss, the way she felt, the pain from his own ill-thought carnal drive, her distance. Part of him wondered why she'd want him to stay. Another part crowed, 'isn't it obvious?'
A groan nearly left his lips, before Thalia re-entered the dining area.
"I should probably find you something to wear." She drew closer to him, prompting tension to string along Maktov's shoulders. He relaxed, a little from relief and a little from disappointment, when she picked up his plate. When he dared to look up, concern pinched between her eyebrows. "I should've thought about getting you some fresh clothes earlier. I'm sorry."
"You cooked me breakfast," he said, tone level and with only a tinge of exasperation.
Thalia shrugged, humming with disagreement, as she turned back to the kitchen. He watched her go, distrusting himself to move anywhere except after her. Too close after her. Tingles licked across his hands, remembering the way she felt beneath his fingertips.
"We better get on with our day," called Thalia from the kitchen. Maktov could hear the water turn on, plates clinking as she added, a little louder, "Go shower. I'll find you some clothes."
As Maktov got to his feet, he almost - almost - invited her to join him. His teeth snapping down on his tongue kept the words from escaping. Using the circuitous path, from dining area to hall connecting Thalia's room, Maktov bypassed the kitchen. Maybe a shower would wash the residual hormones from him.
Once Thalia heard the shower start, her shoulders eased. It had taken so much discipline to not touch him, not graze her finger tips against his back or along his arms as she passed him. Even now, her brain replayed the small fraction of time from last night. Deep, deep beneath her thoughts, she wondered if shadow demons healed speedily.
"Oh my gods, stop that, Thalia," she hissed to herself. Her hormones only obliged with imaginings of Maktov in the shower. Would he take his shadow aura off for that? Or could he shower with it in place? Heat kissed along her body, lingering at her cheeks and lower stomach.
With a growl of frustration, she stomped over to the freezer. Flinging the door open, she grabbed two cubes of ice. One pressed to the back of her neck, the other popped into her mouth. Clenching her eyes shut, Thalia breathed deeply as the cold sunk in, equalizing against the heat.
The same thought flashed through their heads: It was going to be a very long day.
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