The sun slowly streaming across her face wakes her up. Then the sound of cooking and oil-splattering gets her up. At first the lovely smell of bacon floating into her room was a nice incentive to start her day when Lina remembered she lived alone and none of her friends had a key to her house.
Dazed and confused, she begins to worry. A small, lonesome girl surely couldn’t fight against whoever was in her kitchen.
“Hey!” a voice calls out. Gruff and masculine, it is clearly a man’s voice and is oddly familiar to Lina.
“I've prepared breakfast!” it calls out again, disrupting her apprehension. Then, she remembered. Last night, she’d let in and helped an injured man. Though, the absurdity of the situation had left her bewildered when she went to bed. Bewildered enough that she’d doubted it happened and convinced herself that she’d dreamt the whole thing. Maybe, she should’ve thought twice before letting in a stranger.
Realizing it wasn’t an odd dream, Lina starts walking down to the kitchen. She takes each step slowly and pauses when she reaches the bottom. If last night was peculiar, she couldn’t describe what was happening in her kitchen.
Gone was the man she thought was homeless. His once messy face was originally stained with dirt and what she hoped wasn’t blood. Filthy and ragged clothes were replaced with new, fresh ones. Where he got that or how he cleaned up, she decided to ignore for her sanity.
The man she helped transformed overnight. Now that Lina got a second look, she saw he was unusually attractive and had apparently seen fit to cook them breakfast.
He coughs slightly and looks at her pointedly, trying to convey a message.
Right, she should probably take a seat instead of awkwardly staring at him. When she sits down, he brings over plates of bacon and eggs and utensils to which she mumbles a thanks.
“It is no problem, not comparable to what you have done for me,” he responds seriously.
She waves off his gratitude and mumbles some platitudes to lighten the tension. Lina itches to ask about his injuries but she wasn’t sure he’d appreicate her prying. Somehow he senses her silent question.
He explains, a little nervously, “I had just escaped from combat” His steady, quiet voice hid something.
Why didn’t he call the police or go to a hospital? She desperately wants to ask but nods in sympathy instead.
“I am Adrian.”
“Lina,” she answers.
For a while nothing else is said between them, only metal clinks resonate in the dining room. Finally, they finish eating and Lina gathers enough courage to ask him, “is there someone I can drive you to?”
He stops in the middle of cleaning up. A couple seconds pass before he responds.
“No, I had only resettled here not long ago.”
Lina couldn’t help but to sympathize with him. She’d been on the wrong side of life once or twice and knew how hard it was to recuperate without any help. Without the goodwill of her grandparents, who knew where she would be now.
Against her usually paranoid nature, she doesn’t feel fear or anxiety she would typically have towards strangers. And he hadn’t done anything to her while she was sleeping, so she decided he could use some kindness. One she would hopefully not regret. She stays silent for a while trying to organize her thoughts, before throwing caution to the wind and impulsively offering him help without any other thought.
“You can stay, if you want.”
Then she quickly adds, “at least until you can get back on your feet. But you have to pull your weight.” Lina should probably be worried about her uncharacteristic ease around him, but she didn’t feel any nefarious or dishonest intent from him.
“Are you sure?” He offers her an out, raising his eyebrow questioningly. Likely questioning her sanity.
He tries again, “your offer is a kind one, but you even don’t know who I am.”
“I don’t,” she responds without any more explanation.
He continues staring intensely at her, eyes piercing through her soul and lips tightly pursed as if annoyed by her nonchalance. Unsure how to respond, she simply shrugs which is understandably met with disbelieving guaffaw.
“You don’t seem like a horrible person and the house has plenty of room.”
“So, that is all? You’d just provide any poor soul a place in your home?”
Again, she shrugs, not knowing how to answer. She wants to say that she’d never done this before and that she somehow just knew she could trust him. But the words don’t pass her lips and are swallowed down her throat.
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