justwantsafety: (._.)
[personal profile] justwantsafety
((Effects: Curiosity, hunger, some mild sense of accomplishment, and a sort of warmth and fondness turning to sadness at the end, missing the big guy.
Note: First-person as usual. And the food smells will likely make someone hungry! Also, if it's in the narrative, you're free to assume your char gets that info as they watch.))


Harley was in the kitchen again. Bacon and eggs were in pans on the stovetop, one of each. He knocked an egg on the side of the pan and stuck his fingers into the crack, pulling it apart and letting the egg itself drop down onto the frying pan, where it began to turn white on the bottom, where it touched. He dropped the pieces of shell into the trash can nearby, and picked up the spatula to turn over the bacon, those browning strips of marbled meat, the smell of which was getting to him, making his stomach growl a little louder and the mark on the back of his left hand glow faintly.

Someone had been there, teaching him to do this, once.

He watched as the man lay the strips of limp pink and white things down onto the pans, fascinated. As soon as they hit the hot surface, the smell intensified, and Harley could feel his mouth water, the knot in his stomach twisting a little tighter, demanding he eat some. He firmly ignored it, focusing his attention instead on what was happening with those pieces of this wonderful, delicious new substance called bacon, and what needed to be done with it before he could eat it.

"When it's halfway cooked, you turn it over with the spatula," the man said, the tool in his large hand. It looked almost too small for those huge fingers... in fact, everything about the other man was large; he towered over Harley by about nine inches, and probably weighed at least twice as much, all muscle.

And something about him was gentle, even with all the power in his large frame, and the scars that covered him. Here he was, explaining food preparation to someone he'd really only just met, but had already brought to his house and assigned quarters -- a bedroom, was the term he'd used. He had a puppy, a tiny, soft, black and white thing with four legs and a tail, that made little sounds and begged for food and wanted to play. He had yet to so much as sound angry, once they'd gotten to the house after he'd collected Harley... not counting the encounter on the way, crossing paths with one of the people who'd done Harley so much harm already. He'd been protecting him.

Somehow, even knowing that the man could probably bench-press him without any difficulty, he found himself completely unafraid. To the contrary, he finally felt... safe.

The strips sizzled, and after a moment, the man reached down with the spatula, sliding it under two of them and flipping them over. "See?"

Harley only nodded.

"Would you like to try?" The man offered the tool over. His short blond hair had a tuft of bangs, not quite as long as Harley's own, and pale blue eyes under them regarded Harley calmly.

Hesitant, Harley took it, and holding it carefully, he tried mimicking what he'd just seen. One of the strips landed back in the pan, but one of them managed to land halfway over the edge. "Um...."

"That's fine," the man said, watching as Harley tried putting the spatula under the fallen strip, to scoot it back into the pan. "Just like that. See, you're getting it already."

Harley looked back up at him. The man nodded once, quiet, approving.

Abel.


Harley watched as the last piece in the pan landed halfway outside it, and lifted it up to put it back inside.

"See, you're getting it already."

Noireau, now well grown, watched him calmly from where she lay, in the living room, one of her toys between her paws. Rise was still upstairs this early in the morning, probably sleeping in. The kitchen was empty, save for him. Abel's presence hadn't graced the kitchen for months now, but some part of the back of Harley's mind still half expected him to step in, to peek over at what Harley was doing, to give him that subtle smile of approval which only seemed to touch his eyes.

Harley sighed and set down the spatula, bringing his hands up to wipe the leaking -- the tears, as he always had to correct himself still -- away.
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Harley, Leader of the Vanguards

April 2015

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