A Quiet Life Denied

The golden morning light caught the sharp angles of his face—jaw tight, lashes long, lips curved into a faint smirk.Still humming.Still calm.

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"I can make yours with cheese," he said without looking at me. "Unless you’re more of a scrambled person."

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. "Omelet’s fine."

He nodded. "Good. You look like hell, by the way."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Not an insult. Just an observation."

I glanced at the table. Coffee. Eggs. Toast. A small, folded napkin. Everything placed like he was expecting company.

"Do you always do this?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Cook?"

He slid the omelet in front of me without ceremony. "Eat up. I have to head out. College."

I blinked, still halfway between sleep and disbelief. He was already grabbing his keys from the counter.