Horn P.O.V

I drive Cuts and myself back to the apartment. By the time we get there, it's around dinner time. This ought to be an interesting experience. I've never had more than one person in my kitchen and that person is me.

I lead Cuts inside and take him to the elevator. I have a feeling that he wouldn't want to walk all the way up to my apartment. Taking the elevator will be easier.

Cuts stands near the corner of the elevator and waits. The ride only takes a few moments, but I can tell that he's itching to get out. He must not like confined spaces. Once the elevator doors open, Cuts slips out and sighs.

"You okay?" I ask while exiting the elevator myself.

"Yeah, I'm just not a very big fan of small spaces," he admits softly.

"We can take the stairs next time," I tell him.

After a brief walk down the hall, we reach my apartment. I unlock the door and lead Cuts inside. He seems rather shy and gravitates toward the door. 

"Make yourself comfortable."

Slowly, Cuts walks into the room more and takes his bag off. He sets it by the edge of the sofa and looks around.

"You have a nice apartment. It's cozy," he says after a moment.

"It's small but it's home." I shrug.

"So it's just you here?" Cuts asks softly.

"Yeah, why?" I ask in return while getting out a few things in the kitchen.

"I just. . . don't want to impose."

"You're fine." I reassure him.

Cuts slowly nods and makes his way toward the kitchen. "So, what are you making?"

"Well, I can cook pasta. . . or pasta. . . and did I mention pasta?"

Cuts laughs softly. "Pasta sounds great," he says shyly.

"Then pasta it is." I grab a pot from one of the lower cabinets and start filling it with water.

"Where do you keep the spices?" Cuts asks.

"In that cabinet." I point to the cabinet where I keep spices and herbs.

Cuts nods and opens the cabinet and begins searching for whatever spice he wants to use. I'm not huge on cooking, but since I work at a supermarket I get an employee discount and I'd be a fool to pass up the spice opportunities.

"You have some good spices," Cuts comments, grabbing a few bottles and setting them on the counter.

"Working at a supermarket has its perks," I say with a shrug as I begin to boil the water.

"Here," Cuts opens a bottle of olive oil and pours a bit into the pot. "It keeps the pasta from sticking," he adds.

"I didn't know that." I add a pinch of salt to the water.

"Now you do," Cuts says with a smile.

I can already tell that Cuts is coming out of his shell a bit more. He's smiling and laughing instead of being quiet and timid. I like seeing this side of him. It's pretty cute.

Once the water begins to boil, I take a box of spaghetti noodles and break them in half before adding them to the water. I set a timer for ten minutes. Now Cuts and I have to play the waiting game.

"Do you like working at a supermarket?" Cuts asks, leaning against the counter.

"If I'm being honest, I hate it. My boss is a huge jerk, which is ironic considering he's the height of a twelve year-old. Plus he hires teenagers with no common sense and then begs me to come in on my days off," I answer honestly.

"Oh. . ." Cuts goes quite for a moment. "Then why do you work there? Why not go out and pursue your passion?"

"I don't have one," I say absently, stirring the noodles.

"You don't have anything that brings you joy? Anything at all?" the skeptical tone in Cuts' voice is blatantly obvious.

"I like drawing, but I think I'd be better off keeping the job I have now," I tell him.

"You'll never know unless you try," he tells me.

"So what about you?" I ask, changing the subject on purpose.

Cuts shrugs. "I like to write. . . although that isn't always easy to do," he admits quietly. "But I've worked retail, been a waiter, that kind of stuff."

"I'm guessing you didn't like it?"

"I despised it. All people ever do is stare and whisper at me. It's ridiculous." Judging by his tone I can tell that he has some pent up frustration.

"Maybe they were staring because they find you attractive," I suggest in an attempt to change the scenario to a more positive perspective.

A light pink color dusts across Cuts' cheeks. "I seriously doubt that," he huffs out.

"You never know," I remind him as I check the texture of the pasta.

The pasta is ready. I carefully remove the pot of boiling water from the stove and carry it to the sink to strain the water. Cuts moves himself to the other side of the kitchen to avoid the scolding water.

Once the pasta is strained, I add a bit of butter and stir it around. After that, I serve two plates. Cuts sets them on the bar as I get our drinks. It's a nice meal.

"We make a nice team," I say after taking in a mouthful of noodles.

"You did most of the work," Cuts says.

"You added most of the flavor."

"I guess we do make a good team," Cuts admits with a small smile.

It's already obvious that getting to know Cuts will be quite the adventure. I'm eager to know more about him. He seems pretty shy right now and I'm determined to get to his core; the real him. It may take a while, but I'm willing to wait.

Cuts just arrived in town today. I know I won't learn his entire story right away. I don't want to force myself down his throat. Cuts can take all the time he needs. I'll get to know him eventually, when he's ready.