Power & Control

23: Numb

~A

TW: Use of drugs.

I slowly climbed down the stairs, fidgeting with the hem of Niall's shirt in the process. I was solely wearing things that belonged to him. A pair of his boxers and an old looking white Pink Floyd T-shirt, the logo and colours severely faded. I headed straight to the kitchen, the only room that any sounds were evident. Niall had his back to the entrance, standing in front of the stove in just a pair of basketball shorts and thick socks that reached his calves. Irina was by his side, her tail dragging across the tile floor from side to side as she sat there, hoping for a treat as Niall stirred the contents of a pot. I cleared my throat, announcing my presence in that way as I rounded the table in the middle of the room. Niall glanced at me for a split second before turning his attention back to the stove.

"Hey. You're right on time, I'm almost done." I stupidly nodded, forgetting the fact that he wasn't looking at me. Irina trotted over to me once I took a seat at one of the wooden chairs and set my phone on the table, giving me an expectant look and a tilt of her head as she sat facing me.

"I had no idea you knew how to cook." I commented, finally revealing a thought I had for a while as I gave in to Irina's request, scratching right under her ear. She leaned into my hand, clearly enjoying it as her eyes fell halfway closed. I smiled, having missed being around a dog.

"Yeah, well. It's not really something to boast about. I had to learn since I've lived alone for years." I couldn't tell if he realised he just revealed a detail about his past, though it wasn't really that major. But it was still something to me. A tiny little peek into his past.

"I can't cook to save my life, so props to you." Irina didn't move away from me even after I stopped petting her, laying on the ground by my feet.

"Did you have enough warm water?" Niall disregarded my compliment, opening a cupboard to take two dishes out. I examined his every move carefully, trying to get used to the sight of him working in a small, old looking kitchen. The intricately carved, mint green cabinets gave away the fact that this room hadn't been renovated in decades, a much retro style to it.

"I did, thanks." I sighed deeply, taking in the rest of the room. I was glad that it lacked any windows, blocking out the storm still going on outside. Placing the bowls he retrieved on the counter next to him, he crouched down to check on whatever it was he had in the oven.

"What are you making?" I questioned, full of curiosity over the whole process that seemed to be a bit too complicated for just pasta. Casually, without even turning to look at me as he began serving the food, he responded.

"Spinach Alfredo chicken pasta and garlic bread." He filled both bowls before opening the door to the oven, taking the baking dish out by holding onto it with a rug before placing it on the other counter, a wooden cutting board already placed there. All this, no matter how appetizing it sounded, seemed like too much trouble.

"White wine or red?" He walked over to the fridge, paying me almost no attention as he opened it.

"White." I responded, my eyes glued to him as he retrieved a bottle and took two glasses and a bottle opener from another cupboard, bringing them all over to the table I was sat. He placed them down, going back to the stove where he took another bowl out to serve the cut up bread, bringing it to the table along with cutlery before going back to bring the two bowls of pasta. I remained silent all the while, examining the creamy rigatoni in the bowl placed in front of me as he opened the wine, taking a seat across from me on the wooden round table.

"You know I would've been perfectly happy with just plain pasta, right?" I chuckled, looking up at him as he poured wine into my glass.

"Yeah." He mindlessly shrugged, serving himself right after. I cleared my throat, not knowing now to respond to that. I wasn't used to this. I wasn't used to people I barely knew cooking nice meals for me for absolutely no reason, welcoming me into their home the way he was doing.