Page 38 of Sick(ness)

Sunlight filtered weakly through the shutters, painting faint gold stripes across the table. The air still held a hint of wood smoke and something warm: oatmeal and coffee.

Addy blinked awake beneath the blanket. For a moment she stayed still, listening to the soft clatter of metal against the stove. Sawyer stood at the counter, stirring something in a dented pot, his broad frame outlined by the morning light.

“Morning,” he said without looking up, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” she murmured, sitting up and pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. The memory of the night before flickered back: his arms around her, the quiet steadiness of his breath. She tried not to think too hard about it.

He handed her a bowl of oatmeal and a tin cup of coffee. “Eat. We’ve got plenty of work today.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the quiet easy in a way that surprised her. The world outside was still, cold, and uncertain, but here, for a moment, it was almost like normal life.

“Do you ever think about… before?” Addy asked, glancing at him across the table.

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Before what?”

She gave him a small smile. “Before all this. When the world still made sense.”

Sawyer leaned back, thinking. “Sometimes. Mostly when I’m trying to remember what I used to complain about.”

She smirked. “Traffic?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Yeah. That, and small talk. I used to hate hearing people argue about nothing. Now I’d give anything to listen to someone complain about their job again.”

“I get that,” she said softly. “I used to teach third grade. The biggest drama in my life was who ate someone else’s lunch or which kid got gum stuck in their hair.”

He smiled faintly. “You miss it?”

“I do,” she admitted, tracing her spoon along the rim of the bowl. “I miss the noise. The chaos. The sense that things mattered, even when they didn’t.”

He nodded, eyes thoughtful. “I used to love work. We did what we were told, made sure no one ever knew we were there, and pretended it was for the greater good. It seemed like purpose back then.”

Addy studied him quietly. “And now?”

He met her eyes, his expression unreadable. “Now it just seems like survival.”

They both fell silent, the fire popping softly beside them. The warmth of the coffee seeped through her hands as she tried to imagine the world he was describing, a world of secrecy, rules, and orders that used to make sense.

“I miss my kids,” she said finally. “My students, my life, I mean. My friends. My routines. Even the boring parts.”

Sawyer gave a small, knowing smile. “I think that’s what I miss most. The boring parts.”

She smiled faintly. “Guess we’re both still figuring out what comes next.”

He held her gaze for a moment and nodded. “Yeah. But for now, we eat. Then we work. One day at a time.”

She looked at him across the small table, sunlight catching the faint scar near his temple, and for the first time in a long while, it didn’t seem like the world outside was winning.

Sawyer was watching her, really watching her. When Addy finally glanced up from her bowl, his eyes were already on her, steady, thoughtful, as if he were trying to read something in her face that she didn’t quite understand herself.

It made her pulse falter.

She looked away, pretending to busy herself with her spoon, but she could sense the weight of his gaze like warmth on her skin. Something flickered between them, a current that hadn’t been there before, or it had been quietly building since the moment they met.

She hated how aware she was of it. The way her heart picked up when he moved near her. The way she kept wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t always holding himself at arm’s length. The electricity that felt like it was pouring through her veins, she hated the sexual tension that seemed to be building between them.

And then came the thought, sharp and unwelcome, of what it would be like to close the distance. What he might smell like that close, taste like if she let herself forget herself for just one second.

The realization made her catch her breath. God, what was wrong with her? The world was crumbling outside, and here she was thinking about a man. But perhaps that was the point. Maybe when death pressed that close, when every sunrise was borrowed, the body remembered it was still alive, still hungry for touch, warmth, something human.