Turning from the stove to the sink on the kitchen island, I almost jump out of my skin as I see Ashton sitting in the couch; I swear he was still snoring half a minute ago. His hair is all over the place, his eyes half lidded, and his brows furrowed as he looks across the room at the open concept kitchen. The fact that I know he's looking at me is making me a little nervous.

        I decide to acknowledge his presence, since I'm pretty sure he isn't in the business of doing that for me. "Hi," I stammer slightly, leaning over the island to get a better look at him. He's still frowning like a child, and wiping the corner of his mouth. "Good morning, Ashton."

        My second attempt to talk to him seems to work, as he blinks and sits up straighter in the beige cotton sofa. "Morning, Lucia."

        I purse my lips at the sound of my full name coming from his mouth, my forced smile fading; I don't think he's ever called me Lucia in a serious manner, even when he was angry or upset with me, I've always been just Lucy. This should be a good thing though, the first few days after I've woken up he didn't say my name in any shape or form.

        "Are you cooking?" He asks hoarsely, putting an end to my slightly depressing thoughts.

        "Hm? Oh, yeah," I lean off of the island, looking down awkwardly. "You know, since... since I learned how to use a laptop in the hospital, I wanted to use it for something useful, so... I looked up how to make pancakes."

        I glance at my computer on the other side of the counter, which I've actually turned on and searched for recipes and help with kitchen appliances on, just in case Ashton decides to go all detective on me and see if that's really what I've been doing. This is not something I'm going to like reminiscing about.

        "Pancakes?" He repeats, stumbling a little as he stands up from the couch, his feet getting tangled in the quilt. The weird grimace remains on his face as he walks to a stool at the counter, his hand behind his back and, well, I'm pretty sure he's scratching his ass over his gym shorts.

        "I don't think you've made pancakes all year this year," He mumbles, pulling at his grey tanktop as he sits on the stool opposite of me. Well, isn't this a great time to bring that up.

        "Yeah, well... I told you I'd cook for you when my leg gets better," I offer him a smile; my leg actually hasn't gotten better, I've just become more accustomed to using the crutches around the apartment. "And... that's what I'm doing."

        Ashton sniffles and then nods, probably not hearing half of what I've said as he rubbed his eyes. "Uh, do you want to have breakfast? I also made coffee," I try again, but he just yawns and runs a hand through his hair – that's never been longer in the time that I've known him.

        "How long have you even been awake?"

        "Um..." I stammer at his unexpected question, "Since eight?" I shake my head and look at the time on my laptop; 8:39. A person whose leg is in a cast can make a decent breakfast in forty minutes, right? "So how about those pancakes?" I try again – usually I'd worry about being annoying, but I just really want him to try my pancakes now.

        "Sure," Ashton sighs, shrugging. I contain my wide smile as I turn around, taking a minute or two to serve him because of my leg. I wouldn't have accepted his help even if he'd offered it, these kinds of things are something that I want to do completely on my own.

        "Here you go," I smile lightly as I slide the plate across the counter toward him, handing him a fork. For a few moments he just stares at the food before him; I can't blame him, this is the first time in months that he's going to be eating food that's made in his own kitchen.

        "Can you give me some syrup?" He looks up at me, and for a second I'm too lost in the fact that he's actually looking me in the eyes, not avoiding me as he has basically since the moment I'd woken up. But I quickly blink away the distracting thought, and nod at him a few times.

        "Okay," I turn around again, opening a cupboard. "Strawberry or chocolate?" He hates strawberry syrup.

        "Strawberry." It's a good thing that I have my back turned to him, otherwise he'd definitely find my bewildered expression suspicious. He literally hates strawberry syrup, he always complains that fruity syrups are too sweet and make him feel sick, I don't even know why we even have a strawberry one at this point.

        "Okay," I say, almost immediately after his answer, and reach for the red squeeze-bottle. I keep a straight face as I slide it to Ashton, although, the action becomes a little hard when he starts darting his eyes from me to the bottle, several times. At one point I raise my eyebrows in a questioning manner, having him title his head to the side at that.

        "You know what?" He licks his lips, "I think I'll actually have the chocolate one."

        Oh. Oh. He isn't going to drop this testing crap, is he? "Alright," I say slowly, pretending to be confused with his 'sudden' change of mind, as I return the red bottle and take out the brown one from the cupboard.

        "How'd you know they were in there, though?" Ashton asks, causing me to blink at him a few times. "The syrups, I mean. How'd you know they're in the cupboard?"

        Here's an answer to my earlier question. "Well, when I was looking for the pancake mix, I looked in that cupboard and I remembered they're in there."

        He only nods at my explanation, even before I've finished talking. After a week of 'testing' me, five of those days in the hospital, I wouldn't mind if he decided to stop. I don't mind any of the questions he has – I can't mind them – but I'm just saying.

        "This is good," Ashton finally says after a minute of chewing on a piece of his breakfast, his words music to my ears. "Not as good as you can make it but still, it's alright."

        I shrug, acting disappointed in myself but I'm jumping from joy on the inside. Of course I've put effort into not making the meal as good as I can, 'accidentally' not adding the right amount of flour and adding a bit more milk than needed. I didn't have the heart to burn it or make it shitty in any other way, but Ashton's reaction is exactly what I was hoping for.

        "So, um..." I try to start a conversation after getting myself a plate of pancakes as well, "You're gonna be with the band today too?"

        "Yeah, I'm actually supposed to leave in like fifteen minutes," Ashton says casually, looking down at his plate. I take that as a chance to frown; he usually doesn't leave before noon, and now he's leaving at nine? "Today's really important."

        I nod slowly, picking at my pancake. "What's happening today?"

        "We're having an audition for a new guitarist," He tells me, closing his eyes for a second too long as he blinks, and I stop chewing on my food. Why, why do I always have to ask about his fucking band, it's literally the only subject that can make me awkward enough for Ashton to see right through my act. Good thing he doesn't like to look at me that much.

        I finally swallow my piece of pancake, nodding again. "What happened to the old one?"

        Again, why do I do this to myself?

        "It just..." Ashton shrugs, in an overly casual way, "Wasn't working with him. He had other interests."

        Then he looks up at me, keeping his eyes on my face for a long few seconds; oh God, if he goes there now, I might have to kill him and bury his body in the woods. "What, does he go to school or something?" I ask, surprised at how confused I actually sound, my words making Ashton breathe out a laugh, shake his head and then look at his plate again. I deserve an Academy Award for this shit.

        "He doesn't... no, he doesn't go to school," Ashton sighs, sounding like he's just restrained himself from saying something else. And I don't have the slightest intention to ask him what it is.

        I shrug in response, and for a few minutes we just sit at the counter- well, he's sitting and I'm standing on the other side, eating our breakfast and passing the chocolate syrup to each other every once in a while. I can't help thinking how nice this is, even when we're both silent and he'd rather be anywhere else in the world than in a room with me. Maybe it's because we hadn't done it in what feels like years, or because I'm unbelievably eager to make him believe I'm the person he used to know. I could probably come up with another 300 reasons why sitting with an impassive and slightly dull Ashton feels nice.

        "Could you give me some coffee?" His voice yanks me out of my thoughts, and I have to blink a few times as he glances up at me. "You said you made coffee."

        "Yeah, alright," I reply, leaving my fork on my plate. Deciding not to use the crutches in order to save time, I grip onto the nearest flat surface behind me so I could turn around.

        "Fuck!" And boy, was that a mistake. "Fuck, fuck, fucking... fucking hell," I breathe, clutching my fingers that are burnt from the base to the tips; what kind of an idiot forgets to turn the stove off after making fucking pancakes?

        "Put your hand under cold water," Ashton says, his voice flat, sounding completely unfazed by what's just happened on the other side of the counter. I still nod, deciding to listen to him since my burned hand feels a lot worse than his cold shoulder does.

        I sigh and close my eyes as I turn on the sink, the freezing stream of water relieving me of most of the pain. Ashton, on the other side, finished his breakfast in peace, walking around to me so he'd put the plate right underneath my hand. I shake my head as he turns around to leave; I mean I know that I definitely don't deserve the best girlfriend of the year award, but the least he could do is help me out since I've apparently gotten incredibly dumb in the kitchen.

        I glance over my shoulder, and do a double-take when I see Ashton rummaging through the freezer; he places an ice cube tray on the counter before opening a cupboard, and pulling out a cloth. He smacks the blue tray against the cloth, a few cubes falling onto it.

        "Come here," He says quietly, and it takes me a second to realize he's talking to me. By the time that I get myself together he's turned the water off for me, and the stinging from a minute ago had returned. I look up at him and he just points to the ice with his head, signaling that I should put my hand on it. Slowly, almost hesitantly I place my fingers on the ice, wincing a little at the familiar feeling that I'm not really accustomed to. Ashton wastes no time in wrapping it around my knuckle, placing the hems of it in my palm so I could hold it myself.

        "I think that should work. Just don't move a lot," He tells me, sounding like he's just done the most normal thing in the world, and bringing his cup of coffee to his lips. When did he even have time to pour himself one?

        "Thanks," I say quietly, a little embarrassed, and watch him chug his coffee down. When he's done with it he reaches over to put the cup in the sink, only shrugging in response as he goes to the bathroom, disappearing there for a few minutes.

        "Do me a favor," Ashton begins when he walks out into the hallway, and I tilt my head to the side so I'd see him. "Don't try to cook again, alright? This time it's your hand, next time it's the apartment."

        I roll my eyes; he can't seriously think I'm that bad. "Very funny, Ashton."

        When I don't get a response, I tilt my head again to catch a glance of him adjusting his beanie in the mirror. Well, by the look on his face, he seems to actually think that I'd burn the apartment down. Why does that sound so much like a challenge?

        "Wait, Ashton?" I quickly take one crutch with my good hand, stumbling a little to the hallway as I realize he's about to leave. He doesn't move from his spot in front of the door, instead waits for me to reach him.

        Gulping, I reach up to kiss his cheek, and do a little happy dance in my head when he doesn't move away. "Good luck with the audition."

        When I pull away, I get a bad feeling that I should have just said 'bye' instead of being physical with him; his eyebrows are raised at me, his face blank but I can tell that he's not that far from becoming angry. I can almost hear the words 'it's your fault that we're having an audition in the first place' going through his head.

        "Okay," He almost whispers, pulling his lips between his teeth as he looks at his combat boots, and quickly, rather urgently, opens the door to walk out of the apartment. And just like that, the feeling of putting effort into nothing – that I've been having for days because of Ashton – crawls into every part of my body.

*

so these first few chapters are gonna be short and somewhat sad and you're going to hate lucy for what she's doing, but it'll get more exciting after the next part. and i hope you liked this one too :] please vote and comment aaaaaaand lucia is pronounced loo-see-yah, if someone says lu-sha instead i will kick a plant. ily x