[ONGOING]
"What would you do if I die?"
"Die."
"Oh you would die?" I mumble and he nods giving me a small smile.
"What would you do if I die?" He repeats my question.
"Live."
He frowns and I internally evil laugh at myself. That was a good one...
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♥*♡∞:｡.｡ ｡.｡:∞♡*♥ adelia
I woke up extra early to try and make Zeke's family breakfast. I wanted it to be a thank you for letting me stay over.
I don't know what I am cooking or if I'm doing it correctly but I for sure know they would be grateful I tried.
I hardly slept last night.
I was thinking of mum and Ryan.
I don't know how much more I can take of it.
They haven't touched me yet, but I'm afraid of what they would do when I get home. I know they aren't going to be sober especially not after their friends came over.
I take a look at the eggs. Maybe we should go with toast.
Or maybe I should clean this mess up and pretend I was asleep the whole time.
I turn the stove off and grab the pan I used. I walk over to the rubbish and throw it out. I turned the water on and started washing the dishes I used.
"What are you doing?"
I cock my head to the voice, Zeke leaned against the counter. He folded his arms in Infront of his chest, causing his arm and chest muscles to bulge against his black coloured, t-shirt.
His tattoos followed all down his arms.
Holy moly. I gulped.
He raises an eyebrow, expecting me to say something.
I slowly close the tap, placing the wet dishes next to the sink. "I wanted to make you and your family breakfast but uh- I" I look up at him through my lashes.
"It didn't work it." I assure him, "I figured." He walks towards me, softly taking the hood off my head.
"Can I take your braids out?" he questions, a little tilt to his head.
I nod, "I'm just going to finish this up," I gesture to the unwashed forks and cups I used yesterday and mess around the sink.
"Are you tired? You look a little tired," he grumbles. I grab the sponge and dish soap to wash the forks.
"Adelia," he grumbles again.
I shake my head.
"I'm okay. Thank you!" I set the dishware to the side and let them dry. I grab a paper towel and dry my hands, opening the bin and throwing it in.
My eyes drift to his tattoos, his body still leaning against the counter.
"Did those hurt?" I asked walking towards him. I trace my finger along his arm, following the tattoos.
"No," I see a faint scar on his jaw when I look up at his face.
"What about that?" I ask him, the pad of my thumb brushing over it.
