firsts

five

It was weird. This whole weird situation. It was weird.

I guess that's what people would normally say. Strange, weird, a frown on the face. I wondered if I should feel the same, reject the circumstances as they are now, reject him, and reject him the moment he opens the door. But I didn't feel that way, and I didn't think so either. So I wondered if it was stranger, acting on something that you had no emotional or logical reason to.

Today I prepared diner for two.

After the first day we have met, he was rapidly losing weight. He wasn't eating much, only taking bits when I offer him something, too polite to refuse. Most of the times, he forgets to eat, fails to realize what his stomach is telling him. On the others, I feel as if he was trying to punish himself, denying him the delicious taste of food or losing all appetite to eat.

His sleeping habit was even poorer. In the earlier days when he would sleep over, he would only rest his eyes for four hours, waking up abruptly in cold sweat, his brother's name on his lips. Begging him not to go, not to leave him, that he was sorry. Whenever he did so, I hugged him even tighter, hoping that my warmth would remind him that he was not alone. I hoped it worked, since now he is able to sleep for six hours although he still kept the bags under his eyes.

When he entered the room, coming back immediately from work, he smiled. It wasn't the full, teeth-showing one. Not even close to a smirk. But I've learnt to some extent how to read his expression. His eye brows relaxed, his cheeks puffed, his lips unraveled from a tight line. It was a sad smile. But it was more than I could ask for.

"It's my first," I told him. He glanced up, waiting for me to finish my line. "The first time I've cooked for someone else."

There was a glint in his eyes when I said it. And his sad smile was less sad. Maybe I should prepare diner for the both of us from now on...if he is willing to come everyday.