Did Max bring a change of clothes? No, he’d rushed over and that shirt looked too long. Oh, the deep blue color finally clicked. Sometime in the night he’d woken up, stolen my shirt that he loved, and went back to bed. The thief grinned at me, brushing his fingers along the material and daring me to comment, proud of himself. I enjoyed the view too much to ruin it.
He watched me make breakfast from right up against my side, content to observe for the most part. Cracking eggs into a hot pan, soon the beginnings of an omelet were in front of us. Then Max decided he wanted to help. Scrambled eggs were much easier for a beginner to prepare, so I used a spatula to mess up the smooth layer of the egg and begin scrambling.
“Oh. You broke it," he informed me sadly. “It used to be a perfect egg…sheet…thing."
"You said you wanted to help."
"It’s a mess now. I can’t possibly make it an egg sheet again."
God, there were times he acted so tough and fearless and other times he was just adorable. "Scrambled eggs are a lot easier than omelets."
“Right.” His head nuzzled into my neck and shoulder. I felt his heated face against my skin. "All of those words make sense now that you said them, but I couldn’t find them myself. Brains are weird."
"Agreed."
I handed over the spatula and he experimentally swatted at the eggs. "So I just keep stabbing at it?"
"No, just… well, yeah. I guess stabbing it fits. Just stab gently."
“Gentle stabs, got it.” He applied himself to the task seriously while it was my turn to stand too close and gaze at him. “Can I add in some cheese?”
“Yeah, and keep doing the same thing. You’re letting it cook evenly so it doesn’t burn."
"I am? Wow, look at me go."
"You’re a natural."
Though right as we decided this, he stopped. The spatula jumped and then landed outside the pan.
"Gonna keep going?" I asked.
He stiffened and froze against me, gaze a million miles away.
"Max, Max?"
No response. I kept trying to get his attention but he showed no signs of hearing me, not even responding to my hand waving in front of his face.
I quickly set the pan on a new burner and turned off the one we were using. Then breakfast took a backseat to more important matters. What was going on with him?
"Max? Where are you?"
Nothing.
One moment he stood unmoving, then he came to life again with a jolt, stumbling forward blindly. I caught him around the waist and managed to move him away from the stove before he tipped into it.
"Max, are you okay?"
"Uh, hi. I’m, I’m here." His voice sounded much rougher than a moment ago.
"Where’d you go?"
"It didn’t work," he said.
"What didn’t? The eggs?"
"No. I think I saw… I saw…”
"What?"
